THE PEOPLE I'VE SMILED WITH. 




L__._.^.,^^.. 



THE PEOPLE 



I'VE SMILED WITH 



RECOLLECTIONS OF A MERR Y 
LITTLE LIFE 




BY 



MARSHALL P.'' WH.DER 



CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 Fourth Avenue, New York 



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Copyright, 
i886, 
By O. M. DUNHAM. 



Press of W, L. Mershon & Co 
Rahway, N . J 



A^ 



DEDICATED 



TO MY SECOND MOTHER, 



THE AMERICAN PUBLIC. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine; but a broken spirit drieth 
the bones." — Prov., chap, xvii., verse 22. 

In a world so filled with cankering care, 
" blessings on him who invented sleep," 
as simple Sancho Panza says, and blessed be 
he who with merry quip beguiles tedious 
hours or causes one flower of merriment to 
bloom in the desert of selfishness and sor- 
row. 

When first I met Marshall P. Wilder, I was 
drawn toward him because of his magnetic 
smile and because of a sympathy for a merry 
lad who bore his little cross so patiently. I 
saw in him one who, from the hour that his 
bright eyes opened on his cradle, might well 
have railed at Nature ; one who, cheated of 
fair hours and fair gifts, might well have been 
the prey of misanthropy ; who might have 
taken Thersites for a model rather than Mer- 
cutio, and whose heart might well have been 



ii Introductory. 

filled with bitterness rather than the sunshine 
which makes cheerful the darkest days. 

To this brave and philosophical youth has 
been given the richest of dowers — the power 
to make others happy : 

" He is so full of pleasing anecdote, 
So rich, so poignant in his wit, 
Time vanishes before him as he speaks." 

In his soul no envy lurks. His heart is brim- 
ful of charity. His name is synonymous 
with mirth. He is a living illustration of how 
kindly the harsh world receives those who 
come to it smiling and bearing in their hands 
offerings of good-will. 

Where he has passed the flowers bloom not 
less brightly because his feet have touched. 
Children laugh and run to meet the messenger 
of Momus ; solemn men forget their ills ; 
hearts grow tender under the magic pathos of 
his voice, and in all homes he is as welcome as 
the minstrel of old with harp and song and 
story. 

He has written here a little book which is a 
reflex of his own happy, buoyant nature. It 
contains recollections of a life which has 
known no evil, and which, if it has not always 
been spent in sunshine, has reflected every 



Introductory. iii 

pleasant rainbow hue which has fallen upon it. 
As one who has smiled with him, I ask for 
this unpretentious book even more than its 
deserving, for I know that it is the offering of 
a grateful heart to a public whose kindness has 
been as cherishing as the dews which kiss the 
roses where shadows often rest. 

John A. Cockerill. 

New York, May, 1889. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

" Yours, Merrily," — How I Came to Smile, — Dame 
Nature out of Sorts, but she Relented. — What 
THE Old Lady Gave me. — How Others Came to 
Smile with me. — Smiling as a Business, and the 
Friends it Brought me, i: 

CHAPTER 11. 

Henry Ward Beecher. — Mrs. Beecher. — A Long 
Hill Oft Climbed. — Two Old Sunday-School 
Boys in Council. — A Friend for Life. — He Seemed 
TO Know Everything. — A Love Scene Not to 
BE Found in Novels, --.-.. 6 

CHAPTER HI. 

General Grant. — One of His Predictions which 
Hasn't Been Fulfilled. — We Drove Together 
through Central Park. — I Surrendered Uncon- 
ditionally. — The Truly Great are Truly 
Good. — He Could Not Exult over a Fallen 
Foe. — He Teaches a Marf, to Trot. — Better 
than Funny, - - - • - - - - - 14 

V 



vi Contents. 

CHAPTER IV. 

PAGE 

Ex-President Cleveland. — I Visit the White 
House. — The Last Shall be First. — The Magic 
OF A Letter. — A Wonderful Man at Dispatch- 
ing Business. — Mrs. Cleveland, • - - - 31 

CHAPTER V. 

Mr. Blaine. — A Jolly Good Fellow. — No Airs 
ABOUT Him. — A Capital Story-teller. — Quite 
AS Sensitive as Other Men. — A Sympathetic 
Listener. — Mrs. Blaine. — A Peep Behind the 
Scenes. — It Might have been a Honeymoon Trip, 27 

CHAPTER VI. 

Going Abroad. — A Forlorn Hope. — My Own 
Priv.-vte Story. — The Prince of Wales. — Every 
Inch a Prince, and the Prince of Good Fellows 
beside. — His Courtesy. Thoughtfulness, Tact, 
and Kindness. — Why the English Like Him. — 
English Manners in the Prince's Presence. — 
One Yankee who Swears by Him, - - - 35 

CHAPTER VII. 

London Society. — Americans have a Mistaken Idea 
about it. — Good Taste and Unaffected Man- 
ners. — Duke of Teck. — Earl Dudley. — British 
Loyalty. — Visitors are Made to Feel at 
Home. — The Egyptian Princes. — Victoria, D. G., 
etc. — "God Save the Queen," - - - - 48 



Contents. VII 

CHAPTER VIII. 

PAGE 

Entertaining in London. — Fngi.ish "Swells" 
Dress Plainly at Parties. — No Display of 
Jewelry. — Baron Rothschild. — Brains Rule 
in Good Society. — Mrs. Ronalds. — Mrs. 
Mackay. — Lady Arthur Paget.— No Crowd or 
Noise in the Best Houses. — No Display, - - 54 

CHAPTER IX. 

"The Season."— Summer, but Not Hot Weath- 
er. — A Chance for Americans. — Entertain- 
ments WITH A Rush. — Rain also. — William Beat- 
ty Kingston. — George Augustus Sala. — La- 
kouchere. — Sir Morell Mackenzie : — Newman 
Hall. — Joseph Parkkr. — Lady Wilde. — Oscar 
Wilde. — Willie Wilde, 63 

CHAPTER X. 

London Clubs. — Semi-homes, Semi-offices. — Great 
Blessings to Wives. — The Savage. — A Saturday 
Night. — Hospitable to Americans. — I " Take 
Off" Biggar. — The Lyric Club. — The New 
Club. — The Odd Volumes. — The Gallery. — Title 
AND Rank. -------- 74 

CHAPTER XI. 

Henry Irving. — A Most* Remarkable Man. — Dis- 
cussed AS AN Actor — Agreed Upon as a Man. — 
He was my Friend. — Always Says and Does the 
Right Thing. — My Impudence and his Good 



viii Contents. 

PACiB 

Nature. —Always at his Best. — Never Talks of 
Himself. — When does he Sleep ? — A Talking 
Face. — His Delicate Way of Doino Things. — 
Kind to Americans. — His Little Joke on Me. — 
Henry Irving, Junior, ...--- 83 

CHAPTER XII. 

Americans in England.— No End to Them.— They 
are Well Treated. — Not Fair to Our Minis- 
ter. — Mr. Phelps. — Fourth of July at the 
Legation. — An American Monte Cristo. — The 
School Treat. — English Shops and American 
Customers. — Howard Paul. — Unfortunate Yan- 
kees, 97 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Buffalo Bill. — He Met Old Friends. — A Lion in 
Society. — Nate Saulsbury. — Jack Burke. — In- 
dians in Drawing-rooms. — I Entertained Them.— 
A P.\TRioTic Explanation. — The Boys Told Sto- 
ries. — One about Ned Buntline. — Buck Taylor's 
Pie, - - - loS 

CHAPTER XIV. 

My Success Abroad. — No Secret about it. — Never 
Made Fun of the English. — Nor Forced My- 
self upon Them. — Interested Myself in my 
Friends. — No "Effete" Nonsense. — Did not 
" Toady." — No Favors De.manded. — Drank 
Nothing Stronger than Water. — When I Ad- 
mired Anything I Said so. — Put on No "Airs," 122 



Contents. ix 

CHAPTER XV. 

PAGE 
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. — My RECITATIONS 

Abroad. — The Renovation and Ornamentation 
OF the Chestnut.— Mark Twain on Chestnuts. — 
How I Handled Them. — Punch E.xplains for 
Me. — Devise Something New. — The English Like 
Puns. — An Historic Specimen. — Respect other 
Artists. — The Landlord and the Dog. — An 
Irish Toast. — Taking Bits of American Humor. 
— Too Much Advice, ...... 136 

CHAPTER XVI. 

English Respect for the Dramatic Profession. — 
The Lord Mayor's Dramatic Reception. — Wil- 
son Barrett. — Toole. — One of His Stories. — 
"Gus" Harris. — W. S. Gilbert. — Sir Arthur 
Sullivan. — Charles Wyndham. — Madame Patti. 
— English Theaters Don't Equal Ours, - - 147 

CHAPTER XVn. 

Beautiful Paris. — French as I act it.— In Search 
of Napoleon's Tomb. — Ordering a Bath. — Res- 
taurant French. — Legal, but Frenchy. — The 
Champs Elysees. — French Girls not as Pretty 
AS Ours. — Clean Streets. — A War Story to the 
Point. — Some of the Sights. — A Vanderbilt In- 
cident. 160 

CHAPTER XVHI. 

Americans Ahead of the World. — Some New 
Yorkers. — Cornelius Vanderbilt. — He Sent Me 



X Contents. 

PAGE 

Around.— So Did Peter Cooper. — A Thompson 
Street Affair. — Chauncey Depew. — That Way 
OF His. — Bob Ingersoll. — His Perfect Home. — 
Religion and Philosophy. — Tom Ochiltree. — He 
Imitated Washington, 173 

CHAPTER XIX. 

American Actors. — They are Great Story-Tel- 

LERS. — AUGUSTIN DaLY AND HiS BROTHER. — JAMES 

Lewis. — In re Coquelin. — Nat Goodwin. — De 
Wolf Hopper. — Barrett. — Booth. — Chanfrau's 
Best Story. — Ben Maginley. — No Admittance 
Behind the Scenes. — Mark Twain's Experience. 
— Maurice Barrymore, - - - - - - 188 



CHAPTER XX. 

After-dinner Speakers. — Englishmen Admire Ours. 
— Tom Waller. — Chauncey Depew. — Wayne Mc- 
Veagh — Moses P. Handy. — The Bald Eagle of 
Westchester. — The Man Who Didn't Kick. — 
Competitive Lying. — Horace Porter. — Bill Nye. 
— James Whitcomb Riley. — Judge Brady. — Judge 
Davis. — David Dudley Field. . . - - 200 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Newspaper Men are Reliable Smilers. — John Cock- 
erill. — General Sherman Explains. — Some of 
Cockerill's Yarns. — Amos Cummings.— Some of 
his Stories. — Joe Howard Brings Down the 
House. — Willie Winter. — Henry Guy Carleton 



Contents. xi 

PAGE 

ON Commercial Travelers. — Bob Morris. — Joe 
Clarke. — John Reed. — Will Starks. — George 
Williams. — The Press Club. — The Fellowcraft. 209 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Some Points of Business. — No Trick about It. — A 
Matter of Long Practice. — My Earliest Ap- 
pearance. — Joe Jefferson. — A Gallows for a 
Stage. — Buffalo Bill with Red Hair. — My 
Friends the Newsboys. — I Learned Something 
from Talmage. — A Hint to Preachers — Marcus 
Spring's Story. — The Boston Common Incident 
Adapted, 223 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Part of My Pay. — The Fun I Get from My Hear- 
EKS. — They Asked for My Father. — A Thrifty 
Hebrew. — -No Creed about Money. — Expected 
TO Parade. — Some Great-hearted Philadelphi- 
AN3. — A Blind Orchestra. — Cabmen's Jokes. — 
Cari, Zerrahn's Predicament. — Taming a Bear. — 
Mind-reading. - - ----- - 233 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

An Ocean Trip. — A Glorious Bracer. — Some People 
Whom You Don't Meet. — Creditors. — People 
You are Sure to See. — The Doctor. — Fred 
Douglass. — Honeymoon Couples. — Gossip, — The 
Resurrection of "Plug" Hats. — Custom-house 
Officials. — The Traveling Dude. — When Blaine 
Smiled 246 



xii Contents. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

PAGE 

Myself Once More. — One Use of Affliction. — 
Picking up Material. — Dining Customs. — Not 
THE Right Story. — Two Stammerers. — I Laugh 
AT My Jokes. — Sometimes the Audience Laugh 
at the Wrong Place. — Critical Audiences. — 
Hard Work.— Good-bv, 259 



THE PEOPLE I'VE SMILED WITH. 



CHAPTER I. 

" Yours, Merrily,"— How I Came to Smile. — Dame 
Nature out of Sorts, but she Relented. — What 
THE Old Lady Gave me. — How Others Ca.me to Smile 
WITH me. — Smiling as a Business, and the Friends it 
Brought me. 

Why one man should smile more than some 
others, and how I chanced to be that man, may 
properly be stated here, by way of explana- 
tion of the following pages. Besides, I am the 
smallest man mentioned in this book, and 
" the shortest horse is soonest curried." 

To begin at the beginning, as the crane said 
when he swallowed the eel head first, old 
Dame Nature appeared to be out of sorts when 
she got hold of me. She put a couple of feet 
under me, but she left a couple of feet off of 
my stature. She didn't make me tall enough 
to look down on anybody, or strong enough 
to thrash anybody, so I never was allowed the 
small-boy privilege of " putting on airs." 
I 



2 The People I've Smiled With : 

After a while Dame Nature took another 
look, and seemed to think she hadn't done the 
fair thing by me, so she gave me an expansive 
smile and a big laugh. I liked them both ; 
they amused me a great deal whenever there 
chanced to be nobody else looking after me. 
I cultivated that smile and that laugh until 
the one grew very broad and the other very 
loud. In fact, both became so prominent as to 
attract a great deal of attention. 

Pretty soon they began to make themselves 
useful to me at school. All of my readers 
who have been to school know that boys aren't 
the gentlest creatures in the world ; turn a lion 
and a lot of schoolboys loose in the same well- 
fenced lot, and the lion would be roaring for 
the police in less than five minutes. As for a 
small boy who isn't strong enough to fight, — 
why, there will always be a crowd of bigger 
boys who will see how near they can come to 
worrying him to death without killing him. 

There were some boys of that kind in the 
school I first attended, and they " went for 
me." I tried to defend myself with my smile 
and my laugh ; I hadn't anything else to hit 
them with, and I beat them. They gave up 
when they found I didn't worry worth a cent. 
Then they were so surprised that they stood 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 3 

around and asked what kind of fellow I was 
any way. In reply, I smiled and laughed some 
more, and told them a story or two. After 
that I was the biggest boy in school. 

" Orpheus, with his lute, made trees. 
And the mountain tops that freeze, 
Bow themselves when he did sing." 

I don't wish to belittle Orpheus's well-earned 
reputation, but in spite of his great achieve- 
ments I don't believe he could have drawn a 
bigger crowd in our old school yard with his 
music than I always did as soon as I laughed a 
specimen or two. No sooner would I get to 
work than the juvenile toughs would stop 
fighting, and the juvenile saints stop doing 
nothing, all to gather around me, and hear my 
jokes or tell me some, — it didn't seem to matter 
much which, — so they could see me smile and 
hear me laugh. 

When I became old enough to want to 
select a life occupation, I found myself in a 
serious quandary. All the callings to which 
boys at first naturally incline seemed closed 
against me. I couldn't be clown in a circus or 
enter for a walking-match, for my legs were 
too short. I couldn't preach, for my head 
wouldn't reach the top of the pulpit. There 
was no chance for me in Congress, for the 



4 The People I've Smiled With : 

Speaker couldn't see me, to recognize me, 
unless I stood on a chair, which would be 
contrary to the " Rules of the House ;" 
and I couldn't become John L. Sulli- 
van's rival, for my fighting-weight was too 
light. 

It occurred to me one day that there were a 
good many solemn people in the world, and 
none too many men who made a business of 
provoking their fellow-men to laugh. If I 
could persuade enough people to listen to me, 
I might make it my business to smile for 
revenue. Incidentally I might do some good ; 
for if I, with the handicapping I was enduring, 
could smile and be merr}-, any big healthy 
fellow ought to go out into his own back yard 
and kick himself whenever he found himself 
becoming miserable. 

The more I thought over this plan, the better 
I liked it. I already had some idea of how to 
do it, for I had " tried it on a dog," as the 
theatrical people say: that is, I'd told a great 
many jokes and sung dozens of funny songs 
to men who couldn't laugh much easier than 
George Washington could tell a lie. I'd 
learned how to "size up" a crowded house, 
for I had given a good many dramatic entertain- 
ments in our barn (price of admission, one pin). 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 5 

and the audience wasgenerally discriminating — 
and mixed. 

So I went into the " humourous entertain- 
ment " business. I also succeeded — so other 
folks say. I did so well that people who heard 
and saw me always put on their most cheerful 
faces when afterward we met ; as for me, no 
one ever heard me growl or grumble. I've 
had the pleasure of meeting many of the 
people of whom the world talks a great deal ; 
they have been kind enough to listen to me, 
chat with me, smile with me, and otherwise 
treat me so well that I can't help talking 
about them. So here goes. 



CHAPTER II. 

Henry Ward Beecher. — Mrs. Beecher. — A Long Hill 
Oft Climbed. — Two Old Sunday-School Boys in 
Council. — A Friend for Life. — He Seemed to Know 
Everything. — A Love Scene Not to be Found in 
Novels. 

When I started in my professional career as 
caterer to human risibilities, I worked for noth- 
ing and was glad of the chance, for oppor- 
tunity to appear and become known was 
what I needed. As soon as I dared, however, 
I began to charge for my services. My first 
fee was fifty cents, but it made a great differ- 
ence in the treatment I received, and, strange 
though it may appear, the higher my fee, the 
greater is the courtesy and attention I receive. 
Why, when I used to volunteer to recite at a 
church entertainment, I would be the last per- 
son reached by the strawberries and cream ; 
but now, when I am paid almost all the money 
received at the door, I am likely to be the first 
person served. People care most for what 
costs them most ; I know how it is myself. 

After getting a good deal of practice in 
6 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 7 

reciting at social affairs, and having acquired a 
large and carefully assorted lot of humourous 
and pathetic songs and stories, I determined 
to look for larger and more profitable audi- 
ences. To get them, it seemed to me I needed 
the indorsement of some prominent people, so 
I started in search of it. Any man of the 
world, or of ordinary business sense, would 
have nosed around among his acquaintances 
until he found some one who knew somebody 
else who knew somebody in particular, and 
then have got letters from one to another, — 
just as half a million able-bodied American 
citizens who want office have been approach- 
ing President Harrison during the past few 
months. But I was as "green" as I was 
short ; I knew no way but the straightest ; and 
I can't say now, after looking back, that I'm 
a bit sorry for it. 

The first indorsement I went for — and also 
the first I got — was that of Henry Ward 
Beecher. He was prominent ; his opinion of 
anyone was always quoted ; and I knew from 
his sermons that he had the sort of heart that 
would sympathise with a little bit of a fellow 
trying to handle a great big contract. So over 
to Brooklyn I went, and climbed Columbia 
Heights. Oh, that climb ! It's a beautiful 



8 The People I've Smiled With: 

hill when you've reached the top of it, but it 
isn't the sort of hill that I should design with 
special reference to the legs of fellows only 
three or four feet high. I consider myself 
an authority on Columbia Heights, for I had 
to climb it more than half a dozen times 
before I got a glance at Mr. Beecher, and 
another half a dozen before I came to know 
him as I wanted to. Bless the great-hearted 
old man ! To once more see his face break 
into a smile, and the kindly twinkle come into 
his eyes, I'd go up that steep slope a dozen 
times again, and do it on my knees every time. 

Well, Mr. Beecher's door was slammed in 
my face half a dozen different times. The 
servants couldn't have taken me for a burglar 
or sneak-thief, I was too neatly dressed for a 
beggar, so I had to conclude that they took 
me for a book-agent. That wasn't encourag- 
ing, though some book-agents are good fellows. 
I couldn't understand it ; the only thing I 
fully comprehended was that the doorstep 
wasn't specially designed for a tired little 
fellow to rest on. 

The seventh time I called, Mrs. Beecher 
chanced to open the door. When s.he had 
looked down long enough to find who it 
was that had rung the bell, she smiled a little 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 9 

and asked me what I wanted. "I want to see 
Mr. Beecher," said I ; then, paraphrasinij Gen- 
eral Grant's historic dispatch. I continued, 
"and I'm going to keep on coming until I find 
him," That remark, I afterward learned, went 
right to the heart of Mrs. Beecher's own perse- 
vering Yankee nature, and the good woman 
told me to come again, when I should see her 
husband if he were at home. I went ; Mrs. 
Beecher received me, and called back to her 
husband, " Papa, here's that little man who 
wants to see you." 

Mr. Beecher came forward ; his parlour floor 
was a long suite of rooms with his study in the 
rear. He looked as solemn and sharp-eyed as 
a country deacon to whom a stranger is trying 
to sell a horse. I like to be looked at that 
way, though ; it means that a man is " sizing 
me up ; " I can stand it as long as he can. 

" Mr. Beecher," said I, " I'm trying to make 
a living by making people laugh." 

" Well," said he, " if you can make people 
merry, you deserve all you can make out of it." 

" I can do it," said I. " I'll make you laugh 
if you're not careful." I guess he wasn't care- 
ful, for his face suddenly broke up like a cloud 
with the sun jumping through it. I went on : 
" I want a better chance than I've had, and I'd 



I o The People 1 've Smiled With : 

like to let myself loose before your Sunday- 
school. I've been a Sunday-school boy, and I 
know what that sort of fellow likes." 

" I've been one myself," said the old man. 
He looked dreamy a moment ; then he began 
to chuckle and shake over some mischievous 
boyish memory, — I don't know what it was ; 
but I smiled in sympathy with him, and just 
then his eye met mine. That settled it ; I'd 
got him. That isn't all either ; /led got me, 
not only for the remainder of his life, but for 
all that might be left of mine. 

"Well, little chap," said he, " I'm. not mana- 
ger of the Sunday-school; you go and talk to 
the superintendent. I guess you're able to 
hoe your own row." 

I went, and the following Christmas morn- 
ing I was called by telegraph to appear before 
the Sunday-school. Mr. Beecher was there, 
and made a hit, as usual ; but boys and girls 
can swallow fun as fast as if it were ice-cream, 
so I made a hit too. After that Mr. Beecher 
gave me a letter; there weren't many words 
in it, but every one of them was worth a heap 
of money to me. I printed the letter in my 
circular, and I soon found myself a good deal 
of a fellow in the estimation of the public. 
Engagements began to crowd upon me, and 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 11 

Avhen I tried to lessen the number, for time's 
sake, by raising my prices, I found that money 
was no object to the people who wanted to 
see me and smile with me. 

But that wasn't all the dear old man did 
for me. Always after that, when we happened 
to be in the same place, he looked me out and 
took pains to say something cheery to me. 
I've got head and heart for a good deal out- 
side of my business, and when I think of that 
great man, courted and flattered by thousands, 
hated and envied by a few, carrying in his 
great warm heart the cares and sorrows of 
hundreds and thousands of souls, giving 
strength to the weak and hope to the wicked, 
and all the time having a great battle of his 
own to fight, — when I think of all this and 
remember that he yet found heart and time to 
offer cheery companionship to a little fellow 
like me, I have a very clear idea about the 
salt of the earth. 

I afterward saw a great deal of Mr. Beecher 
when he was in England, I travelled there 
with him at times, and found him a wonder- 
ful combination of greatness and goodness. 
There seemed nothing of interest to humanity 
or in the world about which he hadn't thought 
clearly, and with a conscience in first-class 



X2 The People I've Smiled With : 

working order. To me — and everybody else 
who met him, I believe — he was books, 
newspapers, and a whole university course 
beside. 

Several years ago I thought I would like to 
see President Cleveland, but I didn't want to 
straggle along in a line and look at him only 
about a second ; it takes a little fellow like 
me a long time to get a good square look at 
a President of the United States. I said as 
much to Mr. Beecher one day, and he replied : 

*' I guess that can be managed, young fel- 
low." Then he sat down and wrote a letter, 
of which more anon. 

One of my pleasantest recollections of Mr. 
Beecher has its scene in the^home of Rev. Dr. 
Joseph Parker, of London, whose guest Mr. 
Beecher was for a time. At a pleasant little 
reception given by Dr. Parker the rooms were 
so crowded that Mr, Beecher, having given his 
seat to a lady, stood beside the chair in which 
his wife sat. Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, wife of a 
prominent member of the Home Rule party in 
Parliament, and herself a most brilliant and 
charming woman, — an American besides, — re- 
cited a pathetic Southern story. Tears began 
to gather in Mr. Beecher's eyes: he did not 
want to make a spectacle of himself, so he 



Recollecnons of a Merry Little Life. 13 

softly stooped until he sat upon the floor. The 
recitation continued ; so did the flow of tears; 
at last the old man hid his face in his wife's 
lap ; the old lady bent over him and stroked 
his forehead ; and for once I thanked God that 
I was very short, for otherwise I might not 
have been the only witness of this true love- 
passage between husband and wife. After 
that, any one who told me that love was only 
an accident of youth was wasting his breath. 
I wouldn't have missed that sight for all the 
Romeos and Juliets in the world. I've often 
swapped jokes with Henry Ward Beecher ; 
we've pressed each other hard in laughing- 
matches ; he has been a great help to me in 
business and many other ways ; but dearer 
than all my other memories of him is that 
which taught me that true love is eternal, that 
gray hairs cannot, chill it, but, on the contrary, 
that— 

" Where the snow lies thickest there's nothing can freeze." 



CHAPTER III. 

General Grant. — One of His Predictions which 
Hasn't Been Fulfilled. — We Drove Together 
THROUGH Central Park. — I Surrendered Uncondi- 
tionally. — The Truly Gre.at are Truly Good. — He 
Could Not Exult over a Fallen Foe. — He Teaches 
a Mare to Trot. — Better than Funny. 

The human face is a good indication of 
character, but I've often found that while it is 
very good for this purpose, it amounts only 
to what the miners call " surface indications." 
It tells of much that you will be sure to find 
if you search farther, but it doesn't inform you 
of a great many things which you are sure to 
stumble over sooner or later. 

The foregoing isn't part of one of my recita- 
tions ; it is merely a reflection or two that 
come to my mind as I think of General Grant. 
I had heard and thought a great deal about 
him while he was General and President, and, 
like more than half the youngsters in the 
United States, I thought him as serious, 
solemn, and preoccupied as the Sphinx itself. 
I hoped that some day I might see him, — 
14 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 15 

" A cat may look at a king," — and I also 
hoped that when that day should come he 
might look at me, if only for an instant ; 
though I expected that the glance would be 
from a pair of cold, steel-blue-gray eyes, with 
a firm-set mouth a little way beneath them. 

Well, one day I went with my father to a 
camp-meeting at Martha'« Vineyard, where 
General Grant chanced to be staying. My 
father, as he and I were strolling along to- 
gether, stopped suddenly and began chatting 
with a rather short, stout, modest-looking 
gentleman. A moment or two later my father 
said : 

" General Grant, allow me to present my 
son." 

Gracious ! you could have knocked me 
down with a feather. Really, General Grant ? 
And I only little Marshall Wilder? I felt as 
if I were shrinking down into my boots ; but I 
guess I wasn't ; for the General managed to 
reach my head without stooping; he patted 
me kindly, and said, 

"You'll be a little General some day, my 
boy." 

I'm not anxious to have his prophecy ful- 
filled, for I've too much respect for our present 
major-generals, brigadiers, and a lot of other 



1 6 The People I've Smiled With : 

splendid West Pointers I know. Besides, I'm 
otherwise engaged ; I'd rather half kill a man 
with a joke than with a bullet ; nevertheless 
the military dreams I indulged in that night 
would have knocked Napoleon silly, — that's 
about the size of it, — and they'd paralyze 
Moltke, Sir Garnet Wolseley, and General 
Schofield if I could repeat them to-day. 

I didn't expect ever to meet General Grant 
again, or to presume upon a casual introduc- 
tion, such as men as prominent as Grant have 
to endure fifty or a hundred times a day. I 
could not imagine that he would remember me 
if ever we chanced to meet again. But one day, 
while I was standing at the corner of Seventh 
Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street, who should 
chance to step from a Belt Line horse-car but 
General Grant. Again I felt smaller than my 
very small self, but I remembered that I was an 
American citizen, so I braced up and said: 

" Good-morning, General." 

" Why, good-morning, my little man," said 
he. " How are you feeling this morning ? " 

"Tip-top," I replied, "I was just going to 
take a run in the Park." 

He threw a pleasant wink down to me and 
said : 

" How would it do to have a horse do the 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^7 

iTunning, and you sit behind him?" Then he 
turned to one of the Park cabmen and said : 
" I want you to take my friend and me around 
the Park." 

Away we went. Good air and distinguished 
company made me feel merrier than usual, and 
I let off a joke or two ; the General " saw " 
me and went me one or two better. We kept 
up a good-natured fight of that kind all the 
way through the Park and back again ; I 
worked my biggest guns and used up all my 
ammunition, but in the end I found myself on 
the list with General Pemberton, General Lee, 
and a lot of other good fellows, — I'd had to sur- 
render unconditionally. Nobody need talk to 
me about Grant being " the silent man." And 
what a big, honest smile he had ! I've one 
myself, I think, but I wish he could have left 
me his in his will. The idea of a man who 
had handled a dozen armies, carried a nation 
on his shoulders through four years of fighting 
in the field and eight years more in Washing- 
ton, giving an hour or more of his time and 
attention to a little chap whom he chanced to 
meet on a street corner, while a score of mil- 
lionnaires would almost have given their heads 
to be in my place beside him ! As we rode 
along, hundreds of people recognized him and 



1 8 The People I 've Smiled With : 

raised their hats to him, but he returned their 
salutes as modestly as if he was nobody in 
particular. 

But he was that sort of man. He never 
seemed to exult in conquering men, though 
that had been his most successful work in life. 
General Horace Porter told me that, after the 
surrender of Lee, Grant said : ■ I must get ofi 
for Washington to-morrow." *' Why," said 
Porter, " you haven't yet looked at the troops 
\'ou have conquered." " No," replied Grant, 
" and I won't ; they feel bad enough already." 
General Porter said also that the reason Grant 
allowed the ofificers of the Army of Northern 
Virginia to retain their side-arms after the 
surrender was that he saw Lee carried a mag- 
nificent diamond-studded sword given him by 
the State of Virginia, and he hadn't the heart 
to deprive him of it. 

When it came to horses, however, Grant not 
only liked to conquer them, but to exult about 
it afterward. My friend Ned Stokes, proprietor 
of the Hoffman House, with whom I have often 
smiled (though not at his gorgeous bar), told 
me that one day when Grant was his guest 
Robert Bonner said to him, at the Hoffman, 
" Stokes, bring Grant over to my place to- 
morrow, and I'll have Budd Doble drive Dexter 



Rccollectitvis of a Merry Little Life. 19 

a specimen mile for him." So over they 
went, and Dexter did a mile beautifully. 
Then a handsome gray mare named Peer- 
less was brought out and sent around the 
track in handsome style. She seemed to go 
like a streak of lightning with a pack of fire- 
crackers at its tail, but Grant remarked : 

" I believe I could make the mare beat that 
time, if Mr. Bonner would let me." 

" Certainly," said Mr. Bonner pleasantly, but 
with a " Young-man-you-don't-kno\v-as-mucli- 
as-you-think-you-do " look. Grant took the 
ribbons and asked Stokes to take the time. 
"Go!" shouted Bonner. Whiz! went the 
mare, Grant " lifting " her a little. 

"Well? " said the General, after completing 
the mile. 

"There is the watch," replied Stokes, and 
the party saw that, with Grant to manage her. 
Peerless had beaten her previous time by one 
second. Stokes was amazed ; Bonner was more 
so ; but Grant — why, he crowed all day long 
over that exploit, and told of it to every 
acquaintance he met ! 

As I said before, there's more to a man — 
who is a man — than shows in his face ; no face 
is big enough to hold it all. I've seen all the 
portraits and busts of Grant ; I look at them 



20 The People I've Smiled With. 

reverently and loyally, in memory of the man's 
great achievements ; but, after all, human na- 
ture is human nature, and my mind always 
goes back to the day when he put off what- 
ever he was about to do, and took little me for 
an hour's drive in the Park. The busts and 
pictures are all serious and grand, as they 
ought to be, but for the life of me I can't help 
seeing a broad, honest smile come over each of 
them when I've looked at it a minute. 

Just one more story about him. During 
our ride I said to him that it must seem funny, 
after so active a life, for him to be living so 
quietly. He replied : 

"It's a thousand times better than funny, my 
boy : it's rest^ 

And from the expression of his face I knew 
he meant more than words could say. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Ex-President Cleveland. — I Visit the White House.— 
The Last Shall be First. — The Magic of a Letter. — 
A Wonderful Man at Dispatching Business. — Mrs. 
Cleveland. 

About three years ago I went to Washing- 
ton for the first time. It may have been rough 
on Washington society that I had not been 
there before, but 'twas rough on me, too, — so 
condolences are mutual. I went there to give 
some drawing-room entertainments, but as it 
was my first visit to the Capital, I determined 
to see something and somebody out of the 
way of business. 

The first call I made was at the White 
House. A man at the door stopped me — 
for I was walking boldly in, as if I belonged 
there. 

" What do you want ? " he asked. 

" I'd like to see President Cleveland," I re- 
plied. 

*' Then go right up-stairs and turn to the 
right," said he. 

This sounded businesslike and encouraging, 

21 



2 2 The People I've Smiled With: 

but when I reached the head of the stair 
I was stopped by another Cerberus who 
asked : 

" What do you want ? ' 

" President Cleveland," I gasped ; flights 
of stairs never have any pity on my short legs. 

" Step right into that room," said he, 
pointing to a doorway. I entered, getting 
my best Sunday smile ready for the President, 
but instead of Mr. Cleveland I found twenty 
or thirty other American citizens who were 
on the same errand as I. They didn't seem 
pleased, either, to see an addition, small though 
he was, to the crowd. Some senators were 
there ; also some representatives, and a lot of 
possible future Presidents, yet it was only the 
beginning of the day. It didn't take me long 
to make up my mind that I never would allow 
either party to run me for the Presidency, if 
business had to begin so early in the morning, 
and in such earnest. I also made up my mind 
that I was in for a long wait, and I couldn't 
see anything lying about for a man to amuse 
himself with. 

It occurred to me that if I were to send in 
my letter from Mr. Beecher it might prepare 
the way for me, so I said to one of the coloured 
attendants : 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 23 

" Take this in, will you ? I'll await my 
turn." 

The letter read as follows : 



December 24, i: 
President Grover Cleveland : 

Dear Sir : Marshall P. Wilder desires an 
introduction to you, and since in his English 
career he has been received by the Prince of 
Wales, and is a favourite with nobles and com- 
moners of high degree, he will feel honoured if 
you will receive him kindly. He asks nothing 
but the privilege of conferring pleasure. His 
entertainments are highly laughter-provoking 
and of an original character. He deserves 
great credit for making a brave struggle against 
difficulties that would have appalled others. 
He is a most worthy and respectable person, 
and his efforts in my church on sundry occa- 
sions have given very great amusement both 
to the children and to the grown folks. 

Yours sincerely, 

Henry Ward Beecher. 

In a very few minutes an attendant came 
out and said : " Will Mr. Wilder please step 
forward ? " I stepped. I forgive the other 
fellows for the scowls they gave me, for it 
must have been provoking to see the last go 
first — and such a little one. I could see some 



24 The People I've Smiled With : 

of them asking one another with their eyes, 
" Who is he ? " and some of them looked as if 
they were thinking, " Well, it's not always size 
that makes the man." 

Mr. Cleveland met me very kindly, and 
asked : 

" What can I do for you, Mr. Wilder.''" 

Poor man ! I suppose he was so used to 
men who called only to ask favours that he took 
it as a matter of course that somewhere about 
my clothes I had an axe to grind. So I made 
haste to reply : 

" Nothing at all, Mr. President, except the 
pleasure of shaking hands with you. I didn't 
vote for you, but that doesn't seem to have 
made any difference." 

Two gentlemen who were present, I after- 
ward learned, were Cabinet ofificers, so there 
must have been business on hand ; neverthe- 
less the President kindly said : 

" Sit down. Tell me something about your- 
self. What are you doing down here ? " 

I dropped into a chair, and Mr. Cleveland 
chatted pleasantly with me for a while ; then 
he looked at Mr. Beecher's note and said : 

" Mr. Wilder, this is a very valuable letter. 
Hadn't you better keep it ? " 

Bless the man ! I wonder how many others 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 25 

in his position would have been so thoughtful. 
I quickly thanked him, and told him nothing he 
ever had said would be more heartily appre- 
ciated, for, while the letter would have been 
of no use to him, it was extremely valuable to 
me. But that wasn't all he did ; he was kind 
enough to invite me to call on him and his 
wife the next day. I don't suppose I can add 
anything to the praises which cleverer pens 
than mine have written of Mrs. Cleveland ; she 
has been glorified by men of all classes, and of 
styles differing — well, from General Sherman's 
to Tim Campbell's. I simply wish to indorse 
everything good that every one has said of 
her, and wish also that I could re-arrange an 
unabridged dictionary so that all the words 
would speak her praise. 

Mr. Cleveland's faculty for seeing people in 
rapid succession, yet getting rid of them with- 
out offending any one, amazed me. I know 
some business men who are noted throughout 
the United States for being " rustlers " in man- 
aging human nature ; I've stood in their offices 
and admired their tact, but I never saw any of 
them dispatch business so rapidly as Mr. Cleve- 
land. I was in the crowd one day, and pur- 
posely kept among the latest comers, just to 
see how he would dispatch people — no other 



26 The People I've Smiled With : 

word expresses the operation, yet none seemed 
to go away feeling hurt. I finally dropped 
into a brown study over it, wondering how it 
was done, when suddenly I heard, " How are 
you to-day, Mr. Wilder ? " and looking up, I 
saw the President's face beaming on me as 
pleasantly as if all his work had been mere fun, 
and as if he had nothing else to do for the 
day. 

I afterward went to a "swell" reception at the 
White House, in company with my friends 
Moses P. Handy, of the Philadelphia Clover 
Club, and the late W. F. O'Brien, There were 
any number of gorgeous diplomats present, 
with epauletted and gold-laced officers of our 
own, ladies in wonderful costumes, and all push- 
ing their way to the famous " Blue Room," 
where beside his handsome wife stood the 
President, looking as dignified and distin- 
guished as any good citizen could ask ; but I 
like best to remember him in every-day dress, 
receiving every one who came and trying to do 
the fair thing by everyone. I was so impressed 
that I wanted to do something real nice for 
him — something that no one else had done, so 
I left Washington without giving him a bit of 
advice about how to run the Government. I 
hope he was duly grateful. 



CHAPTER V. 

Mr. Blaine. — A Jolly Good Fellow. — No Airs about 
Him. — A Capital Story-teller. — Quite as Sensitive 
AS Other Men. — A Sympathetic Listener. — Mrs. 
Blaine. — A Peep Behind the Scenes. — It Might have 
BEEN A Honeymoon Trip. 

While I was at Washington I was " taken 
around," by some dear old friends who wanted 
me to be acquainted with some of the " big " 
men, and also wanted them to be acquainted 
with a little man. Nowhere else in the world 
have I been more kindly treated ; nowhere 
have I found it harder to get out of a house 
where I had just dropped in. How other 
callers managed to stay so short a time as some 
did was a mystery to me. Perhaps short calls 
are as easy as running the government or 
making a fortune — when one is used to it, but it 
did seem very odd to me, to see a well-dressed, 
intelligent couple, whom I knew at sight would 
be charming company, call on a lady equally 
intelligent and charming, and then hear a con- 
versation something like this : 

" Good-morning." 

27 



2 8 The People J*ve Smiled With : 

" Oh, how do you do ; I'm so glad to see 
you." 

*' Thank you. Isn't it lovely weather ? " 

" Indeed, yes. How well you are looking!" 

" So kind of you to say so. {Rising.) Do come 
and see me." 

"Oh, you're not going? I've enjoyed your 
call so much. Good -morning." 

" Good-mormng." 

They have to do it in this way a great deal 
of the time, during the season. There are so 
many people in town whom one wants to see, 
and must see, that there's no way of doing all 
except by making five-minute calls, and dash- 
ing madly in a carriage from place to place. 
I've heard some society fellows in New York 
boast of the number of calls they'd made on a 
single New Year's day, but a day or two in 
Washington society would take the conceit 
out of them. And Washington people — those 
who belong there — do it so easily, too ; they 
enter a drawing-room in as leisurely a way as 
if they'd come to spend the day in old-style 
back-country fashion, and go to prayer-meeting 
with the family afterward. They depart in the 
same deliberate, well-bred manner; you'd sup- 
pose, to look at them, that they were wonder- 
ing how and where to kill a couple of hours of 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 29 

time, instead of squeezing twenty or thirty 
calls into it. 

One c-f the most interesting men in Wash-^ 
ington is Mr. Blaine. I've seen a great deal 
of him, and the more I meet him, the oftener 
I want to meet him again. He has a way of 
making a fellow feel entirely at ease with him 
which is wonderfully pleasant — if you chance 
yourself to be the fellow. He takes }'our 
hand — if he likes you — in a way that makes 
you feel that you're his long-lost friend, and 
he chats with you as freely and merrily as if 
he hadn't a thing to do or think of but make 
himself agreeable. 

And how he can tell stories ! Lots of other 
men do it, but after a while you begin to think 
they've been out nutting, and found all the 
chestnuts. Not that I object to chestnuts; 
I've gathered some myself in my time, and 
found that people enjoyed them, when prop- 
erly served. Mr. Blaine enjoys them himself, 
apparently, for I've seen him listen to the same 
story four or five times in as many days, and 
laugh heartily each time. And how he can 
laugh ! Should he ever go into the entertain- 
ment business he'd knock out all the rest of 
us. 

I first met Mr. Blaine on shipboard. One 



30 The People I've Smiled With : 

day when the sea was running high, and the 
wind on deck went through a man Hke a piece 
of bad news, the captain invited several of us 
into his cabin; beside your humble servant 
there were Mr. Scott Cassatt, Mr. T. C. Craw- 
ford the well-known journalist, the Earl of 
Donoughmore, and Mr. Blaine. Chat soon be- 
came general, and everything reminded Mr. 
Blaine of a story. The Earl had been travelling 
on state business, and having dispatches chase 
him from place to place without finding him, 
which reminded Mr. Blaine of an army oflficer 
who graduated at West Point before the days 
of the Pacific Mail Steamship line. Immedi- 
ately after graduating he was assigned to the 
Fourth Infantry, stationed at San Francisco, 
and set out for his post via Cape Horn. It took 
exactly nine months to make the journey. He 
was a very bad sailor, and was very sick all the 
way around. When he reached San Francisco 
he found there was a mistake in his order, and 
he should have been assigned to the Fifth 
Regiment, stationed at Fort Mackinaw, Michi- 
gan. This information was brought by the 
pony express, then just established, so he 
had to come back again and undergo another 
nine months' stretch of horrible seasickness. 
He finally reached Fort Mackinaw, but after a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life, 3^ 

week's stay the Fifth Regiment was ordered to 
change places with the Fourth, and he had to 
go back to San Francisco. As he was starting 
on his third voyage he said to a friend : " My 
father gave me a choice between the army and 
the navy, and I foolishly selected the army. 
If I had selected the navy I am sure I would 
have had a much better chance of remaining 
on land." 

Some one told of a friend of his who trav- 
elled a great deal, but hadn't the faculty of see- 
ing things ; indeed, he seemed to prefer not 
to see them. 

" A good deal like an English lord I've 
heard of," said Mr. Blaine. " On reaching a 
certain town in Germany he asked his courier 
what there was to see. * Nothing whatever, 
my lord; absolutely nothing.' 'Then,' said 
his lordship, looking quite happy, ' we'll stay 
here a month.' " 

Some of us were talking of men who never did 
anything for their fellow-men, and Mr. Blaine 
asked if we weren't a little too hard on them. 
" If a fellow will be true to himself," said he, 
" he may do a great deal of good unawares, 
and nobody will ever know of it. Why, there's 
a friend of mine in Maine, a veteran of the 
Mexican war, who once went up to old Colonel 



32 The People I've Smiled With: 

and said to him, ' Colonel, I owe you more 



than I ever can repay. In the Mexican war you 
saved my life three different times.' The Col- 
onel was somewhat astonished, for he couldn't 
recall a single incident of the kind, so he asked 
the fellow to explain. ' Why,' was the reply, 
' I always kept my e3'e on you during an en- 
gagement ; whenever you started to run, I ran 
too, and three times your example saved my 
precious life.' " 

During conversation about the Irish race, 
the religious Irishman's persistent thought 
about the great hereafter was alluded to. 
" Yes," said Mr. Blaine, *' and there's good 
reason for it. The Irish people have such 
infernal torments at home that they can't be 
blamed for wanting to avoid any in the next 
world. If they could believe there was no hell 
they'd rather die than live. Once at Dublin, 
toward the end of the opera, Satan was con- 
ducting Faust through the trap-door which 
represented the gates of Hades. His majesty 
got through all right — he Mas used to going 
below, but Faust, who was quite stout, got 
only about half-way in, and no squeezing 
would get him any farther. Suddenly an 
Irishman in the gallery exclaimed devoutly, 
'Thank God, hell is full!' " 



Recollectiofis of a Merry Little Life. 33 

Because he has been a public man and poli- 
tician a great many years, Mr. Blaine is sup- 
posed by some people to be very thick-skinned, 
but it is impossible to be with him a little 
while without seeing that he is nothing of the 
sort. He is quite as sensitive as any other gen- 
tleman, and any rude remark grates unpleas- 
antly upon him, even if it has no personal ap- 
plication. The only time I ever heard him 
speak of himself was one day when he brought 
me a caricature of myself which some one 
aboard ship had drawn. " There, Marshall," 
said he, " how do you like that ? " " Great 
Scott ! " I exclaimed, making a face at the 
picture, " does that look like me ? " . " Well," 
said he, " that's exactly the question I ask my- 
self when the illustrated papers caricature me." 

I've heard people call Mrs. Blaine "cold," 
but I saw for myself that the only reason for 
it was that she was so devoted to her husband 
that she had no time for more than ordinarx' 
civility to any one else. She hovered about 
Mr. Blaine as tenderly as if she were his mother 
and he was her pet child. She seemed to an- 
ticipate his every want, and in this respect her 
daughters were just like her. 

It was great fun to me to see Mr. Blaine 
among the passengers, telling good stories, lis- 



34 The People I've Smiled With. 

tening genially to everybody, and laughing 
more heartily than any one else. I think I 
smiled just as long, however, and with a very 
warm heart, more than one night, when, creep- 
ing on the lonely deck for a " nightcap " in 
the shape of a mouthful of fresh air, I saw Mr. 
and Mrs. Blaine side by side, with one shawl 
around both of them, softly chatting and doz- 
ing, like a newly married couple on a wedding 
trip. A great man's private life is his own, 
no matter how much he belongs to the public ; 
no one has any right to peep behind the cur- 
tain ; but an accidental view, such as I've just 
mentioned, certainly does the beholder a great 
deal of good, if only by reminding him that 
public men have hearts quite as big as their 
fellows — often bigger. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Going Abroad. — A Forlorn Hope. — My Own Private 
Story. — The Prince of Wales. — Every Inch a Prince, 
AND THE Prince of Good Fellows beside. — His Cour- 
tesy, Thoughtfulness, Tact, and Kindness. — Why 
THE English Like Him. — English Manners in the 
Prince's Presence. — One Yankee who Swears by Him. 

After I had been in the entertainment 
business a few years, it occurred to me that I 
might give my friends a rest and get a change 
for myself by going abroad. I might make 
some money beside. EngHsh people like ex- 
tremes as well as others. A number of our 
greatest men had been well received over 
there ; so might not there be a chance for one 
of our smallest ? 

So I went. I landed there an entire stranger 
and without much money. I expected up-hill 
work, but I've a tremendous faith in a man 
"getting there " if he'll do his level best ; he's 
sure to have something unexpected turn up to 
his advantage. A " forlorn hope " almost al- 
ways achieves a brilliant success, partly through 
itself, and partly through something it didn't 
35 



36 The People I 've Smiled With : 

expect. I always, when I have to " nerve up," 
repeat to myself the following story : 

Old Jim Peters was a famous bear-hunter 
in the Adirondacks. Both his ears and his 
nose were clawed off in bear-fights. When he 
drank too much he wanted to fight, and if there 
were no bears in sight he would fight with the 
first man he met. Jim had a pretty daughter. 
A young shingle-cutter used to come to see her. 
The old man met him one night and was going 
to whip him, but the youngster was so small 
that it seemed mean to strike him-, so instead of 
beating him the old man said, " Don't you ever 
come fooling around my daughter again till 
you bring me a bear, and a live one at that." 
The young man was rather appalled at the out- 
look, but he made up his mind that he must have 
the girl. The ground was covered with deep 
snow, on which the rain had fallen and frozen 
till it was very slippery. The hunter's cabin was 
right at the bottom of a steep hill. As the 
shingle-cutter reached the top of the ridge, a 
bear jumped from a rock and grabbed him in 
his embrace. In the struggle the bear lost his 
footing and fell, with the youngster on top. 
Out they shot on the ice and slipped down the 
hill, going like a double-ripper on a toboggan 
slide. The young shingle-cutter put his foot 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 37 

out behind and made a splendid steer for the 
cabin. The couple struck the logs in the side 
of the cabin like a freight train on a down 
grade, stunning the bear. The door flew open, 
and out flew old Jimmie to see what was the 
matter. " There," said the shingle-cutter, 
"there's the bear — and a live one too." He 
got the girl. 

Well, I was in London some time without 
getting an engagement. One day I met my 
good friend Perugini, the popular tenor — in 
spite of his Italian name he is a big-hearted 
American, and I told him how my luck was 
succeeding in dodging me. " Why don't you 
go to the Lyric Club," said he, " and speak a 
little piece ? Then people will know some- 
thing about you. I'll send you a card of in- 
vitation." He kept his word ; I went to the 
Lyric Club — of which more hereafter — spoke a 
piece, and was asked for several more. They 
took so well that through the Club my name 
was put on the list of speakers at an entertain- 
ment given for the Gordon Home for Boys. 
It was to be given at the Grosvenor Hall, and 
the Prince of Wales and the Princess, with 
their sons and daughters, were to be present, 
together with the most brilliant assemblage in 
London. The Baroness Rurdctt-Coutts, Lord 



38 The People 1 've Smiled With : 

Randolph Churchill, and everybody was to be 
there, simply because the entertainment was 
for a charitable purpose. 

My invitation was as follows : • 

q/o meet 4a !^oya/ Q/pcahne65- me 
JxUnce o/ /raieJ- 

ieaae4^tS' t/ie nonai o/ t/ie com/iajiu o/ 

event7ia^ Ju7ie 2ytn^ at /O.SO. 
Qfti/i/iei at // o c/acH'. 

Q^n eau^ ani^w-ei e's ieanei-tecC. 

I knew this was the most important point of 
my English career, because if I succeeded in 
pleasing the Prince of Wales my fortune would 
be made, but if I failed there would be no use 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 39 

in my remaining abroad. One doesn't want to 
be long in England to find out that the opin- 
ion of the Prince about any one or any thing 
has ahnost the force of law. 

I sat down and thought it all over. I hoped 
his Royal Highness would be feeling well, 
because I knew that if he was out of sorts in 
any way it would be a very hard task to enter- 
tain him ; royalty is also humanity in this 
respect. If you have ever had a Turkish bath 
I think you will know how I felt for about a 
week before the entertainment. The Prince 
had heard of me, and my name was presented 
to his highness by the committee from the 
Lyric Club, so that by his command I was 
allowed to appear. This is the way things are 
always done over there. Lists are submitted 
to him, and he uses his preference. 

That night, after I reached the hall and was 
waiting for my turn to " go on," I peeped 
through the curtains at the Prince. I saw a 
pleasant-faced gentleman with a kind light in 
his eyes. I noticed that while many of the 
courtiers about him were full of the English 
coldness that you may have heard of, the Prince 
himself was unaffected and cordial in manner, 
and when I saw how kind the Princess appeared, 
and how appreciative of the people who 



40 The People I've Smiled Witli: 

appeared before my " number " came, I felt 
encouraged, and, Republican-born though I 
was, I understood why people heartily admire 
the Prince of Wales. 

As I wall-ced down the stage the Prince 
looked at me in a way that seemed to say : 
" Now, my boy, you are three thousand miles 
away from home ; you want to make a success. 
Go in and do your best. If you have any 
ability, I will help you all I can." He seemed 
surprised at my small stature, so I got on a box 
to give him a better view. The first thing I 
did was an imitation, entirely by the face ; it 
was of a man who received a letter from his 
wife ; he expected, of course, that she wanted 
more money ; opened the letter and discovered 
that she didn't, but that her mother, his dear 
mother-in-law, was ill, and a postscript told 
she was dead. The whole story is told by the 
face. Of course the man is very cross at first, 
but blissful at last when he finds his mother-in- 
law is dead. This caught the Prince's fanc)% 
and he burst into a laugh which from any one 
less distinguished would have been called a 
roar. He was even so kind as to " call me 
out," and, of course, the audience assisted him. 
It was worth to me nearly $iooo in a very 
short time, for next morning I had fifteen 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 41 

engagements. That started my career in 
London. 

The first time I met the Prince to have any 
conversation with him was at the house of a 
prominent society lady who gave an entertain- 
ment. Mr. Eugene Oudin, the well-known 
American baritone, and I were invited there to 
entertain the Prince. When the Prince came 
in I noticed his entire lack of formality, and 
yet his gentlemanly, courteous bearing and 
dignified manner made one feel that his Royal 
Highness was an awfully nice fellow, but 
caused one to refrain from being familiar with 
him. It was strange to see how assuming all 
the rest of the men about him were ; how full of 
stiffness and formality they were. The Prince 
alone was perfectly easy in his manner. The 
man whom you would naturally think would be 
formal was just the reverse. After the enter- 
tainment we went down to dine. As I passed 
on the right of the Prince, there was a vacant 
seat beside him, and he kindly said, " Mr. 
Wilder, be seated." So I sat down beside 
him. For once in my life I felt very tall ; I 
know everybody will forgive me. I never shall 
forget how kind he was, and what nice things 
he said about America. He asked me a great 
many questions about the Americans, and 



42 The People I've Smiled With : 

seemed to be wonderfully well posted on every- 
thing happening here. 

During the evening I wanted a glass of 
water — being a temperance man. I called to a 
waiter to hand me the caraffe. It was right in 
front of the Prince, who himself passed it to 
me, remarking as he did so : " Mr. Wilder, that 
is water." 

" Yes, your Highness, but that is all I take." 

He could have turned around and said to 
me, " See here ; you don't often get a chance 
to drink with a Prince," but he was so gentle- 
manly in his way that he did not at all em- 
barrass me. I wish some Americans could 
learn manners from him. 

Of course I closely observed, on every op- 
portunity, the manner of the prospective King 
of England. When he appears at a reception, 
every one arises ; the Prince bows, and greets 
the host and hostess, sometimes shaking hands 
with them. He is very particular about dress. 
On all occasions a military man, when he comes 
into the presence of the Prince, must wear the 
proper uniform. If he has any medals — the 
man who wins a medal in England has a small 
miniature model made of it and placed on a 
ribbon instead of wearing the large medal — 
these the Prince insists upon his wearing. As 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 43 

soon as the Prince seats himself everybody else 
sits down. No one leaves until the Prince 
does. It is wonderful how he observes every- 
thing and knows exactly how long to stay, and 
when to get up and lead the way to the dining- 
room. As he walks past the company every 
one bows. As he goes down to the dining- 
room the other guests follow him. He stands 
until everybody is in the room ; then he sits 
down, and the others follow his example. 
When he commences eating, they commence 
eating. He is very thoughtful as well as clever. 
For instance, no one stops eating until he 
stops, so he will keep on eating till he sees that 
everybody has got pretty nearly enough. His 
exceeding tact and courtesy astonished me so 
that once I made bold to ask him how he could 
remember the various people he met. He said 
he always associated certain ideas with them. 

His kindness to me at all times I cannot 
forget ; he really seemed to " have me on his 
mind," and to remember that I was a stranger 
there and whatever kindness he could show me 
would do me good. He was right, bless him ! 

One night I went to Mr. Irving's theatre, and 
the Prince was in one of the boxes. Those 
acquainted with Mr. Irving's theatre know that 
there is a room off one of the boxes where the 



44 The People I've Smiled With : 

Prince generally goes to take refreshments. 
As I passed by the Prince happened to see me 
and called out : 

" Aha, little chap, back again ? " 

"Yes, your Highness," said I. As I walked 
up the stair he noticed I was lame, so he leaned 
down and helped me up two steps. Then he 
shook my hands and turned to Mr. Ashton, of 
Mitchell's, and said, " You must always be kind 
to this little chap." It's no wonder the English 
people are very fond of him, but I'll double 
discount any of them at that business; I've 
good reason^ too. 



CHAPTER VII. 

London Society. — Americans have a Mistaken Idea 
Ai;ouT it. — Good Taste and Unaffected Manners. — 
Duke of Teck. — Earl Dudley. — British Loyalty. — 
Visitors are Made to Feel at Home. — The Egyptian 
Princes. — Victoria, D. G., etc.—" God Save the 
Queen." 

Before I went to England I heard a great 
deal about society, and people, and society- 
ways over there. I was loaded to my full ca- 
pacity with information and advice, all given 
with the best intentions in the world, but as 
soon as I became acquainted I had to unload 
and throw it all away. I've no doubt there are 
cads, dudes, fools, and rogues in some English 
circles, but I am happy to say I haven't met 
any of them, although I've been over several 
times, and "run around" a great deal. 

I suppose some of our readers will think me 
assuming when I express opinions on this sub- 
ject. Well, I'm quite willing to admit that 
I'm not a " swell ; " I know perfectly well that 
in society I'm merely the salt that goes with 
the soup, nevertheless I insist that " the 

45 



46 The People I've Smiled With : 

soup " above alluded to is good to be " in." 
I've been invited out a great deal in London, 
generally in my professional capacity ; I've 
kept my eyes and ears open, seen and heard 
everything, good and bad, that any one could 
see, and I must say that more intelligent, 
better-hearted, better-mannered people than 
the upper classes in England cannot be found 
anywhere — not even in our own happy land, 
where I know any number of good fellows and 
charming women. 

One reason of this isn't hard to find. The 
English have learned how to enjoy life, and 
how not to be in a hurry to get away from 
what they are doing and go do something else. 
Clerks in government offices and business 
houses, private secretaries, and the managers of 
great estates, are trained to do work which here 
the milHonnaire must do for himself. English 
household service is perfect, as near as human- 
ity can make it ; you simply can't imagine a lot 
of English ladies sitting down and exchanging 
dismal remarks about cooks and chamber- 
maids, such as one can't help hearing when- 
ever a few women get together in a drawing- 
room in New York. I'm not blaming our 
American women ; if I were in their place, 
I'd talk servants too, and I'm sure my language 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 47 

would be unfit for publication. But facts are 
good, solid, can't-get-away-from-me sort of 
things, and I'm talking about some of them 
that do make a distinct difference between 
society in Europe and here. 

In one particular, however, the better classes 
in both countries are exactly alike ; the greater 
the individual really is, the more modest and 
natural is his manner with every one. 

For instance, one night at a reception at 
Mrs. Ronalds's, while I was perched upon a 
sofa watching the brilliant assemblage, I fell 
into conversation with a pleasant gentleman 
seated beside me, who was very curious about 
America and American life. I told him a 
great deal about America, and said that Ameri- 
cans in England would not at once know how 
to address people properly. " As for me," I 
said, " I am as green as a gooseberry on this 
subject ; even if I supposed you were one of 
the nobility I should not know how to address 
you." A few moments afterward Mrs. Ronalds 
said to me, " Mr. Wilder, that's a good thing 
you've been saying to the Duke of Teck ; 
you've made an impression upon His High- 
ness." I replied ; " Why, I haven't met the 
Duke of Teck ; the only gentleman I've been 
talking to is standing over there." " Well," 



48 The People I've Smiled Wit/i : 

says Mrs. Ronalds, "that is the Duke of 
Teck." Gracious ! I am a little enough fellow 
by nature, but just then you might have put 
me in a pint cup. 

Last summer young Earl Dudley invited me 
down to his place — Witley Court, Worcester- 
shire. The Earl wanted me to entertain some of 
the yeoman.ry — corresponding with our militia. 
When I arrived he was out playing polo ; 
soon afterward he hurt his ankle and had to 
be helped upstairs by his valet and one of his 
friends. When he came into the room where I 
was awaiting him, he was suffering great pain, 
but he spoke as kindly to me as if I were an 
old friend. Afterward he invited me to join a 
number of officers at a hotel, and a very pleasant 
evening I had. All were cultivated gentlemen ; 
they had read a great deal about America, and 
listened with great interest to the stories I 
told them of this country. They were par- 
ticularly interested in the stories of the Fire 
Department ; Englishmen always are inter- 
ested particularly in whatever calls for manly 
strength and courage. 

When English people of " quality " invite 
you, their cards are very simple. They are 
not printed as we get them up here, — elabor- 
ate copperplate engravings, like government 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 49 

bonds or railroad stocks, but are simply written, 
in a cordial ofY-hand manner, by the hostess 
herself, as a rule, and in very simple language. 
For instance, " Lady Burton invites Mr. Wilder 
to tea Friday afternoon at four." In one cor- 
ner of the card will be " Music by the Hungar- 
ian band ;" in the other corner will be " R. S. 
V. P." That is al\va)'s there. When j^ou ar- 
rive you are ushered into Lady Burton's beau- 
tiful apartments in "Mayfair. A flunky meets 
you at the door and takes your hat and coat. 
A little further on another flunky takes your 
card, and passes to the room above where the 
reception is held. My lady will be standing at 
the door with her husband, and the flunk}^ calls 
out your name; then you receive a cordial 
hand-shake, and pass right in. There are no 
formal introductions, as a rule. When a guest 
you have the right to speak to everybody — and 
you do. If you happen to make a mistake and 
address a person wrongly, allowances are kindly 
made for you — if they know you are an Ameri- 
can. One nobleman came to me in London one 
day — he is a man of high title — and showed to 
me a letter addressed to him as "Mr." and "Esq.," 
and he laughed at it as heartily as if I had been 
called Lord Marshall P. Wilder ; he seemed 
to think it a capital joke instead of being 



50 The People I've Smiled With : 

offended by it. Who wouldn't like such a 
fellow ? 

It is not an uncommon thing in London 
society to see negro banjo-players contributing 
to the entertainment of the guests. There are 
a couple of men over there — the Bohee Broth- 
ers — who are making a great deal of money. 
They went over with Haverly's minstrels some 
time ago. The English people must be enter- 
tained ; they have the lei*sure, the money, and 
the taste for it, and draw the line only against 
what is not good of its kind, and what is not 
respectable. They will not, however, tolerate 
buffoonery, or anything that approaches it. 

I've been asked whether the higher classes in 
England really respect royalty, and I always 
answer " Yes," with all the lungs I have. Any 
one who bets his pile on England becoming a 
republic will wish afterward that he'd put his 
money into Keely Motor stock, for he'd get at 
least the price of waste paper out of it. How 
can the English help it? With a Queen who 
is a model of domestic virtue and royal dignity, 
the Prince of Wales, who is unceasing in cour- 
tesy, cordiality, and thoughtfulness, his charm- 
ing wife the Princess, whom everybody adores, 
and a royal family beside which numbers many 
estimable members, the English have plenty of 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 51 

reason to be loyal and satisfied. I'm a rabid 
American myself — I crow whenever our eagle 
screams, and I can't ever look at the Stars and 
Stripes without a sudden enlargement of the 
heart and a tendency to wipe my eyes — but 
whenever English hats go off as " God save the 
Queen " is played, I know just how the men 
under those hats feel, and I honour them for it. 
Among other royal personages whom I met 
unexpectedly in England were the Egyptian 
Princes. Through the kind suggestion of the 
Prince of Wales I one day received the follow- 
ing invitation : 

"Mr. Wilder: Their Highnesses the Prin- 
ces Abbas and Mehemet Ali request the pleas- 
ure of your company to dinner to-morrow 
evening at six o'clock." 

Following this came the same invitation in 
Egyptian characters, on parchment. The 
princes are sons of the Khedive of Egypt ; 
when I met them their ages were about thir- 
teen and fourteen years, but their manners 
were those of well-bred adults. They showed 
training in pomp and ceremony, yet they were 
courteous and cordial. They had been out to 
visit Queen Victoria and had just returned, but 
they were not above being affable to a tiny 
American sovereign. They had been educated 



5 2 The People I 've Smiled With : 

in Switzerland, and spoke English well. They 
were much pleased with my entertainment, and 
understood me thoroughly. The elder seemed 
in manner very like the Prince of Wales : he 
was naturally the leader, being heir to the 
throne. They talked a great deal about my 
entertainment ; afterward they went in to 
dinner with great ceremony. The elder went 
in first, his brother followed, and they went 
through about the same ceremony that I have 
described with regard to the Prince of Wales : 
all about them stood up until the Princes 
were seated ; the dishes were first presented to 
Prince Abbas and then passed around. I no- 
ticed how clever he was not to finish before 
any one else. Finally, when he rose all fol- 
lowed. When he got back to Egypt he sent 
me a present of a cane as a souvenir of the 
occasion, and also an invitation to visit them 
in Egypt. He told me that when he arrived 
home outside the gates of the palace they 
would kill a lamb or a cow, and then the car- 
riage of the prince would have to drive through 
the blood. The ceremony may seem barbar- 
ous, but time-honoured precedents must be re- 
spected, as the Yankee deacon said when he 
refused to give the parson more than a dollar 
for marrying him to his sixth wife, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 53 

Every American who has been to England 
is expected to tell, when he comes home, what 
he thinks of the Queen. I saw Her Majesty 
on "Jubilee Day"; she didn't stop her car- 
riage to speak to me, but I forgive her; 'twas 
her jubilee — not mine ; when I've governed a 
great country respectably for fifty years I won't 
stop my carriage in the procession for anybody; 
if any one wants to speak to me that particular 
day, let them come up to the house when the 
show is over. As I said, I saw Her Majesty, 
and I was so much impressed that I raised my 
hat as high as my arm would let me. Just 
think of it a moment, fellow-citizens who liave 
seen Presidents rise and fall once in four years; 
here was a woman who for half a century had 
been head of the most populous civilized nation 
in the world, yet except for an air of modest 
dignity — " the divinity that doth hedge a 
king " — looked as honest, unassuming, kindly, 
womanly, and good as any decent fellow's dar- 
ling mother. 

" God save the Queen." 

" Them's my sentiments," as the man said as 
he hung up a printed prayer on the wall one 
cold winter evening, and pointed at it before 
he jumped into bed. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Entertaining in London. — English "Swells" Dress 
Plainly at Parties. — No Display of Jewelry. — 
Baron Rothschild. — Brains Rule in Good Soci- 
ety. — Mrs. Ronalds. — Mrs. Mackay. — Lady Arihur 
Paget. — No Crowd or Noise in the Best Houses. — No 
Display. 

While I am scribbling about the ways of a 
number of "nice people" who have smiled 
with me in London, it may not be inappropri- 
ate to astonish some of my readers and enrage 
their jewellers, by remarking that people at 
" the best houses " wear very few diamonds or 
other gems. They own them ; there are occa- 
sions when they wear them, but informal re- 
ceptions and entertainments are not among 
them. 

Baron Rothschild is the richest banker in 
England ; Mrs. Mackay is wife of a " Bo- 
nanza King," but, except on extraordinary 
occasions, there is less display of jewelry in 
the well-filled drawing-rooms of these promi- 
nent members of society than you may see at 
an ordinary reception in New York. English 
54 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 55 

people of the better class own a great many 
jewels, and they know how to admire and dis- 
play them, but they have a very clear idea that 
" there is a time for everything," and the time 
to show off rare necklaces, bracelets, and other 
begemmed ornaments is not during an evening 
devoted to amusement. Even the diamond 
ring, without which no American lady's toilet 
is complete — nor any shop-girl's either — has to 
be looked for a long time in a parlor full of 
high-born English ladies. As for a competitive 
show of diamond rings — " a full hand," — such 
as one frequently sees spoiling pretty fingers 
in America, you can't see it in any class of 
English society — not even among the vulgar 
people made newly rich. 

There is a notion in America that all " swell " 
society in England consists of the nobility. 
There never was a greater mistake. Noble- 
men, like mijiisters, are sometimes off-color ; a 
few of them, of retiring and studious manner, 
wouldn't be in society if they could ; a far 
greater number couldn't if they would. In Lon- 
don you are quite as likely to meet the Prince 
of Wales or some other member of the royal 
family at a little evening entertainment given 
by a commoner or an American, as among the 
nobility. Character, manners, and culture are 



56 The People I've Smiled With: 

as highly esteemed in England as here, al- 
though some of our own good people seem to 
think they've a monopoly of that sort of thing. 
Some of the pleasantest home entertain- 
ments in London are given by Americans. For 
instance, there is Mrs. Ronalds; I believe an 
Englishman who has the entree of her delight- 
ful house would give up grumbling about the 
national debt rather than miss one of her " Sun- 
day afternoons." I have heard them spoken of 
as "rather Bohemian," but if that is true, all 
society can afford to make haste to be Bohe- 
mian. The only difference between these 
affairs and some other drawing-room entertain- 
ments is that they are a bit less formal, Mrs. 
Ronalds's friends " dropping in," instead of 
being specially invited. The hostess is always 
near the door, receives each guest, and has an 
inexplicable, wonderful way of at once making 
every one feel at ease. As a rule in London, 
everybody in good society knows everybody 
else, and no introductions are necessary, but 
many prominent Americans and people from 
the Continent are acquainted with Mrs. Ron- 
alds ; she must see that these do not feel lone- 
some or ill at ease, and she does it instantly, 
or her charming daughter, Mrs. Ritchie, does 
it for her. 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 57 

All the prominent lyric artists in London 
like to sing at Mrs. Ronalds's receptions, partly 
because most of her friends really love good 
music, but another reason is that no one dares 
to talk or whisper while music is going on. 
There are places in London that remind one 
of Punch's joke about the lady who was so glad 
the distinguished pianist she had invited was 
about to play, for then the people would stop 
being stupid and begin to talk: if, however, 
any one attempts to talk during song or piano 
playing, Mrs. Ronalds gives them a look; a 
pleasant smile goes with it, but the talker 
promptly retires within himself for a while. 
Probably more literary and artistic people go to 
Mrs. Ronalds's Sunday afternoons' than to any 
otlier house in London, and other noted people 
go there to meet them. In a single afternoon 
I have seen there the Prince of Wales, Lord 
Burton, Mrs. Mackay, Lady Paget, George 
Augustus Sala, Lady Randolph Churchill, Sir 
Arthur Sullivan, Wilson Barrett, and many 
others equally prominent in their respective 
sets and professions. Minnie Hauk and Mad- 
ame Nevada sang. Sir Arthur Sullivan played, 
W. S. Gilbert said witty things, everybody 
chatted with everybody, and not one person 
did I see sitting alone or looking bored. The 



58 The People I've Smiled With: 

hostess seemed to be seeing, hearing, and enjoy- 
ing everything, yet finding time beside to speak 
to all her guests. I never can forget her many 
kindnesses to one small American whose name 
begins with W. 

Mrs. Mackay's entertainments are also de- 
lightful. Although as rich as the richest, and 
the owner of a beautiful house to which the 
best people in London like to ccme, she never 
forgets her nationality to the extent of forget- 
ting Americans — of the right kind — in London. 
Many of our people get letters of introduction 
to Mrs. Mackay when going abroad, and it is 
amusing to note the astonishment of some of 
them when they meet the lady. Because she 
is wife of a "Bonanza King," they seem to 
expect her home to look like Aladdin's cave, 
and to see her arrayed like an Oriental prin- 
cess. Well, it would be impossible to find 
anywhere a house where tiiere is less attempt 
at display; everything is there which taste 
and comfort suggest, but nothing designed 
only for show. As for the warm-hearted 
hostess, I never saw a more unassuming lady, 
nor did I ever see her wearing jewelry of any 
kind. She never says or does anything to 
remind a person that she is richer than any but 
two or three of Britain's six hundred peers, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 59 

and that she knows every one in England worth 
knowing. Beside being a society queen she is 
very enterprising and nobly charitable ; where 
some one else, hearing of a case of suffering,will 
sigh " Poor thing ! " and think her duty done, 
Mrs. Mackay will have the case looked into, 
and substantial relief provided at once if really 
needed. Some Americans seem to think she 
has become entirely Anglicized and has "cut " 
her native country ; but one day I asked her 
when she would return, and she quickly re- 
plied : " I want to go home as soon as my sons 
complete their education." 

Another American lady — Lady Arthur 
Paget, nde Minnie Stevens — gives entertain- 
ments so delightful that people will break 
almost any other engagement rather than miss 
them. At her house I have met the Prince 
and Princess of Wales, their Royal Highnesses 
the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, the 
Duke of Teck and his handsome wife the 
Princess Mary, and many other distinguished 
persons. 

Entertainments at such houses are specially 
delightful, aside from other reasons, because 
there is no noise nor any crowd. Only enough 
invitations are sent out to comfortably fill the 
house. When a song or recitation is to be 



6o The People I've Smiled With: 

given, the master of ceremonies claps his 
hands, the buzz of conversation ceases, and 
every one listens as respectfully as if the 
hostess herself was speaking. When your 
humble servant was to "do something," he 
was generally, in compliment to his size, placed 
on a cushion on the piano, so he could be seen 
as well as heard. 

It would do a Yankee's soul good to hear 
the talk of the better class of English people 
about American girls. All English people 
admire our young women immensely — how 
can they help it ? — but some misunderstand 
them. Not so the well-bred English, whom 
our girls most naturally meet. It is all in the 
bringing up, as the artillery captain said when 
he saved the day by bringing his battery into 
an action over a road which no other fellow 
understood. English girls are as natural, sweet, 
and good as any in the world, but they are not 
brought up like ours. They are kept like 
children or babies — I don't know how else to 
express it. The English young lady spends a 
great deal of time with governess and nurse; 
in many families she does not take her meals 
with her parents until she is almost a woman. 
The American girl, sitting at table with her 
elders from the time she is able to sit on a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 6i 

high chair, and playing about sitting-room, 
parlour, or wherever else her mother may 
chance to be, unconsciously gets a great deal 
of that high education that comes of contact 
with superior minds. She is just as modest 
and innocent as any other girl in the world, 
but she is a great deal besides : she has a degree 
of intelligence, composure, and self-command 
that makes her a woman among women quite 
as early as her brother becomes a man. This 
is not merely my opinion — I've heard it, bit 
by bit, from many observing English men and 
women. 

How the Englishmen do cluster about one 
of our pretty girls in a drawing-room ! No 
one makes rude speeches, unless in a lower 
class of people than I have seen. Old men 
and young; husbands and bachelors, veteran 
soldiers and statesmen, callow youths and top- 
heavy university students, will stand in a circle 
for an hour and be happy to get a word from 
one of our girls. Not a disrespectful or impu- 
dent look does any one give ; each looks as if 
he wanted to say : "You angel, when did you 
drop out of heaven ? Stay here a long time, 
won't you? — it can't do you any harm, and it 
does the rest of us an awful lot of good." 

There are a lot of people on our side of the 



62 The People I've Laughed With. 

water who seem to think that the American 
girl goes abroad with the sole idea of marrying 
a title. Nonsense! any of our girls could get 
a distinguished foreigner for a husband if she 
liked. If she doesn't, it isn't for lack of offers. 
Many American girls who spend as much time 
abroad as here, and are quite at home in Eng- 
land, have married titles, but the great majority 
come back to marry here because they prefer 
to live here, and sensible Englishmen respect 
them for it, for nobody knows better that 
•• There's no place like home." 



CHAPTER IX. 

'•The Season."— Summer, but Not Hot Weather. — A 
Chance for Americans. — Entertainments with a 
Rush. — Rain also. — William Beatty Kingston. — 
George Augustus Sala. — Labouchere. — Sir Morell 
Mackenzie : — Newman Hall. — Joseph Parker. — Lady 
Wilde. — Oscar Wilde. — Willie Wilde. 

There is only one trouble about the so- 
called fashionable season in London — it doesn't 
last long enough. Occasionally I've seen 
fashionable Britons who looked and acted as 
if they wished the season shorter; nevertheless 
I adhere to my original statement, for I'm 
talking from the standpoint of the observer 
and the professional. I never got tired of 
looking on, or of putting one engagement 
more on my little list. 

Still, while the season does last it is most 
lively. The American who imagines the Eng- 
lish a slow people will have the nonsense taken 
out of him very speedily if he gets in " the 
swim" of English society for the season. For 
a time it was a mystery to me that people got 
about at all to the unceasing round of parties, 
63 



64 The People I've Laughed With : 

receptions, and balls. I used to pity the most 
stalwart six-footers — of whom there are more 
in England than in New York — as they hurried 
about to "take it all in "; but when I began to 
be in demand I pitied myself more, and wished 
my short legs were as numerous as those of a 
centipede. It's easy enough, though, when 
you know the ropes, as the old sailor said when 
he hanged himself. 

The season begins at the first of June and 
ends at the last of July. This may seem hot 
weather, to the American mind, but the Eng- 
lish haven't any such summer heat as we ; they 
can wear their winter clothes all the year 
round. Should an American ever want to 
establish a reputation in England as a colos.sal 
liar, all he need do is to tell a few positive 
truths about the heat of New York in summer. 
It wouldn't do, though, for a Philadelphian or 
Poughkeepsie man to go and do likewise; 
there is an extreme of lying which the English 
regard as detestable imbecility. 

Sometimes there is good weather during 
the fashionable season — but only sometimes. 
Once when I was over there was rain on each 
of ninety successive days. Strange though it 
may seem to Americans, the English seldom 
grumble about bad weather ; there are some 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 65 

things that long civilization teaches a nation, 
and one of them is that the weather is managed 
by a power that can't be influenced by any 
amount of grumbling. When the sun does 
come out, however, and the ground dries 
decently, the English take advantage of it in a 
hurry. There are very few " hot-house plants " 
among English women ; they never lose a good 
opportunity to be out and about, on horse- 
back, in carriage, or on foot, and English girls 
will take long walks with their fathers or 
brothers in weather that would keep an 
American girl indoors for fear the dampness 
would take the crimp out of her hair. 

It mystifies an American to see how much 
time a busy Englishman finds to devote to en- 
tertaining and being entertained. There is 
William Beatty Kingston, for instance, of the 
London Daily Telegraph, Everybody knows 
him for a busy journalist, yet everybody knows 
also that he gives in rapid succession some of 
the most enjoyable entertainments in London. 
He has a lovely home at Finchley, New Road. 
I was invited there to meet Patti, who is one 
of Mr. Kingston's dearest friends; Henry 
Irving, Hans Richter, the famous musician, and 
some Continental ro}'alties were of the party. 
The Kingstons' Sunday afternoons a^'e noted 



66 The People I've Smiled With : 

as among the most enjoyable in London. In 
the house are several fine pianos, one of which 
has not been opened in a long time, because 
the last person who played upon it was the 
incomparable Liszt : a silver plate on the lid 
is inscribed with this statement. 

George Augustus Sala is another very busy 
knight of the pen, but he finds time to give a 
great many dinner-parties, which no one of the 
invited would miss any more than he'd miss 
his own wedding-day. 

Then there is Labouchere ; what that man 
doesn't interest himself in, know about, talk 
about, and write about, hasn't yet been discov- 
ered by the most inquisitive eye. There isn't 
a man in England, except, perhaps, Gladstone, 
whose opinions are oftener quoted, — yet La- 
bouchere is continually entertaining. He has 
a glorious place for the purpose, too ; it is 
Pope's historic villa at Twickenham, on the 
Thames, only a little way from the heart of 
London. Beside entertaining his friends and 
acquaintances, he allows the general public the 
liberty of his beautiful grounds a great deal of 
the time. He has an odd way of intimating 
when he wants the general crowd to depart, 
but it never fails to work ; on top of his house 
is a clock, visible from all parts of the grounds. 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life, °7 

and when the proprietor wishes to give " notice 
to quit " he simply sets the hands forward an 
hour or two. 

I shall never forget the first time that I met 
Mr. Labouchere. I wrote him that I had a 
letter of introduction to him, and he responded 
with an invitation to his villa. When I sent 
up my card I was ushered into the presence of 
two men, one of whom was short, with whis- 
kers about his face, his clothes rather unkempt, 
and his shoes down at the heel — a man who 
was very quiet in his manner. The other man 
was a very large fellow, who had a great deal to 
say, and moved around and talked in so au- 
thoritative a manner that I immediately as- 
sumed he was Labouchere. After some con- 
versation I discovered my mistake, and felt 
like pinching myself. Mr. Labouchere and 
Mr. Blaine resemble each other greatly in one 
respect : each can talk with you an hour and 
make you tell him everything you know, while 
he gives you little or nothing. They give you 
the impression right away that they listen to 
everything you say. which is highly flattering, 
yet often, after you leave them, you want to 
pinch yourself for sa)'ing so much and hearing 
so little. 

Labouchere has tried his hand at almost 



68 The People I've Smiled With: 

everything, and generally succeeded. He told 
me that he managed the Queen's Theater over 
twenty years ago, and in his company were 
Charles Wyndham, Henry Irving, the late 
John Clayton, J. L. Toole, Ellen Terry, Lionel 
Broiigh, and others now famous. At that time 
Toole was his most popular man, and received 
the highest salary. He said that once he an- 
nounced, at his theatre, Miss Terry and Mr. 
Irving in, I think, "The Taming of the Shrew," 
but " the public entirely declined to come." 
Think of it ! 

While telling me that a manager needs to 
know human nature as well as dramatic art, 
and must humour the public while having his 
own way, he said, by way of explanation : 
" Once I advertised to give a Shakespearean 
entertainment, the names of the plays desired 
by the people to be put into a ballot-box, and 
the most successful one was to be produced. 
Every one visiting my theater was to have a 
chance to cast a ballot for some Shakespearean 
play. In the mean time I had myself prepared 
the play — Cymbeline — which I really intended 
to produce. I let everybody vote, and gave 
the impression that the vote would decide 
what would be brought out, but in the mean 
time Cymbeline was to be put on, whatever 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 69 

they said. There were a great many ballots 
cast, but not more than two or three for Cym- 
beline. There were fifty votes for Hamlet, 
forty-five for Macbeth, and forty for The Mer- 
chant of Venice, but the play I brought out 
was Cymbeline ; I believed it would be popular, 
and I had a large audience." 

Mrs. Labouchere is quite as fond of the stage 
as her husband, and knows it as thoroughly ; 
it was at the Labouchere villa that I had the 
pleasure of witnessing the famous perform- 
ance of " As You Like It," with a number of 
prominent dramatic artists in the cast. 

Dr. Morell Mackenzie, of whom the world 
has recently heard a great deal, lives in a pleas- 
ant home on Harley Street, West, and his wife 
gives capital entertainments Thursday after- 
noons, at which one is sure to meet a great 
many prominent Englishmen. I had but a 
very short talk with Dr. Mackenzie, as his time 
when I was there was very busily taken up 
writing his trials and experiences at the Ger- 
man Court on the occasion of the late Empe- 
ror's sickness. I found his wife to be a very 
charming lady. They have two sons, one, a 
young man, who is very much "taken" with 
the stage, and who looks a great deal like his 
father. 



7o The People Fve Smiled With: 

One Londoner whom I remember most pleas- 
antly is Rev. Newman Hall, well known to 
thousands in America. I first met him at the 
house of Dr. Strong, of Saratoga, when he was 
over here preaching. One night we all got 
together in a parlour, and Dr. Hall told a story 
after listening to one of mine. One led to an- 
other. We commenced about ten o'clock and 
ended about twelve, he alternating with me, 
and always telling stories a great deal better 
than I could. (You may be sure I wouldn't 
admit this if I could help it.) About twelve 
o'clock the audience, who had been laughing 
all the evening, shook hands with the doctor, 
and went home. I think at that hour he must 
have about reached the end of his stories — no 
man can hold more than so many. When I 
went to London he gave me a charming little 
lunch at the Toy House, Hempstead Heath, and 
I enjoyed a pleasant time there with himself, 
a lot of his friends, and his charming wife. 

Speaking of one preacher reminds me of an- 
other — one who wasn't fully appreciated in 
this country. I mean the Rev. Joseph Parker, 
about whom there was some talk in connec- 
tion with Plymouth pulpit, when the grand 
and good Beecher died. Dr. Parker is a splen- 
did fellow to joke with; he laughs all over 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 7^ 

when you tell him a good thing, and he's too 
" square " to let you get away before he can 
give you another equally good. But there's 
an immense deal to him besides humour. 

I went once to Dr. Parker's noonday meet- 
ing at the City Temple, Holborn Viaduct, and 
was greatly impressed by the spectacle of poor 
men bringing in their dinner-pails and eating 
their midday meal while Dr. Parker talked to 
them. If any one doubts his goodness and 
greatness of heart, let him go there and see 
how much beloved he is by his immense con- 
gregation. His platform, or rather his pulpit, 
is moved out almost to the centre of the 
church, as near as can be, in order to properly 
adjust the acoustics. There he stands and 
talks; he doesn't preach, but just talks to his con- 
gregation. People drop in and stay for five 
or ten minutes, and then go out, if they like. 
His charming wife is always near him. In 
fact I noticed that both Dr. Parker and Dr. 
Hall were so very fond of their wives, that they 
never seemed to care to start their sermons 
unless these ladies were in the congregation. I 
remember Dr. Parker at church once arising, 
and, not seeing his wife in her customary seat, 
he sat down again and waited. She had been 
detained by some friends ; when she finally ar- 



72 The People I've Smiled With: 

rived and took her seat, he commenced his ser- 
mon. I asked him about it afterward, and he 
said he got much of his inspiration by looking 
into her face. 

A woman can make or break a man — every 
time. 

Lady Wilde has every Saturday afternoon 
a little conversazione. She is the mother of 
Oscar. There are very pleasant gatherings 
at her house throughout the society sea- 
son. There you meet all the literary people. 
Oscar Wilde and his wife, and his brother Wil- 
lie, generally attend, and also a great many 
people noted in music and art. The room is 
lit by candles, with rose shades, which cast a 
very soft light. Lady Wilde is a very charm- 
ing lady, and she has the true English style of 
making one feel perfectly at home; she is 
constantly receiving friends from America, 
and is very fond of Americans. I met Oscar 
Wilde a great deal in society. He is one 
of the brightest conversationalists I ever had 
the pleasure of talking with. He is not at 
all the man most Americans imagine him. 
His brother Willie Wilde I found to be 
more of a social man. He has a humourous 
way of telling a good story, and enjoying 
it too. He told me one of a young prima 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 73 

donna on the stage who was singing in Dubhn. 
At one part of the song she takes a long breath 
and has to sustain a note. She held it for a 
long while, and two or three Irishmen in the 
gallery looked at each other, and one said, 
" Say, Mike, listen to that "; another said, " Oh, 
that's nothing at all, — that's not the woman, 
it's the gas." He told me another story of a 
disturbance in the pit of a theater in Ireland. 
One Irishman called out, " Put him out"; an- 
other fellow said, "Jump on him"; another 
man said, " Say, Pat, don't waste him ; kill a 
fiddler with him ! " 



CHAPTER X. 

London Clubs. — Semi-homes, Semi-offices. — Great Bless- 
ings TO Wives. — The Savage. — A Saturday Night. — 
Hospitable to Americans. — I " Take Off" Biggar. — 
The Lyric Club. — The New Club. — The Odd Vol- 
umes. — The Gallery. — Title and Rank. 

Among the first surprises of an American 
in London is the great number of clubs; the 
next surprise is the number of ways in which a 
man will make his club useful to him. To 
most New Yorkers the club is a good place to 
go when they have nothing else to do, but the 
Englishman's club seems a sort of second 
home, — a half-way place between residence and 
business ofifice. An acquaintance writes you a 
note, not from his place of business or resi- 
dence, but from his club : he invites you to call 
on him at his club, not his house. If Ameri- 
can wives could know what a blessing this cus- 
tom is — how it keeps all of a husband's stupid 
semi-business acquaintances from being imposed 
upon the family, and saves women from being 
driven out of their most comfortable room 
when some fellow wants to " buzz " the head 
74 



Recolkclions ,>/ a A ferry Little Life. 75 

of the house for an hour or two about politics 
or a yacht race or a shooting match, why, the 
dear creatures would have a club house at every 
other street corner, even if they had to pay all 
the expenses themselves, out of their own pin- 
money. 

The club is a blessing to the business man, 
too ; in London there is very little of the run- 
ning into a man's counting-room on private or 
social business, which is so common here. The 
Englishman in his counting-room, office, or 
studio, can depend upon having the use of all 
his time while there ; at his house, the only 
calls are of a social nature. If in London you 
want to see a gentleman on any affair of your 
own, you go to his club : if he is not there you 
do not go to his office, disturb the course of his 
business, and make him wish you where ther- 
mometers would have to be a mile high to 
take the temperature. You do not go to his 
house and disturb his romp with the children, 
or a rubber of whist with some friends. You 
merely leave your card at the club, asking 
when you can see him, and he replies, asking 
you to call at the club at a specified time. 

Beside the many clubs which are really semi- 
business offices for their members, there are 
many which are devoted almost entirely to en- 



76 The People I've Smiled With: 

tertainment — to " having a good time," There 
is no more eating and drinking at these than 
at any reputable club in New York, but there 
is a great deal more fun. 

For instance, there is the Savage Club, con- 
taining quite as many men of brains as any ot 
the learned societies. It resembles the Lotos 
Club of New York in the great number of 
dramatic and musical artists among its mem- 
bers, but I think it contains a larger proportion 
of literar}' men. The Prince of Wales is a 
member, with a great many other prominent 
men. Americans who amount to anything 
are always taken to the Savage, and always 
enjoy themselves so much that they wish they 
could carry the whole club, members and all, 
back to America with them. 

Saturday night at the Savage is a gala day. 
Maybe a night may not seem a day, but it lasts 
nearly as long — at the Savage. It begins with 
a dinner at five o'clock ; after an hour or two 
of eating and drinking the tables are cleared, 
the incense of burning tobacco begins to per- 
fume the air, and the chairman, who was ap- 
pointed by his predecessor, for one week only, 
calls on some member to do something. The 
member must respond ; apologies are never 
accepted. A man may sing a song, tell a story, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 77 

" speak a piece," or make faces. As the pro- 
fessional members do not have to be on the 
stage until an hour or two after the dinner is 
over, they can always be depended upon to 
open the Club's evening brilliantly. After- 
ward the other members do their best, most of 
which is very good ; sometimes a sober speech 
is sandwiched between bits of fun, but nobody 
is sorry, for a fellow isn't going to get on his 
feet before a lot of brainy men like the Savage 
Club members unless he has something to say. 
Henry M. Stanley, the famous African trav- 
eller, has made some capital short speeches at 
the Savage. Before any one realizes how the 
clock has been behaving, the theatres are over 
the actors come back, bringing some of their 
audiences with them, and the new blood con- 
tinues to " whoop 'er up." So pleasant is the 
"feast of reason and flow of soul" at the Sav- 
age that the Club has never felt the need even 
of a billiard-room. There is no more formality 
there than at a Methodist camp-meeting, nor 
any attempt at style in furnishing the rooms, 
but the members don't miss it ; I really believe 
a Savage man would rather sit on a stump, if 
he could find one, than in an easy-chair. 

The fellows at the Savage are particularly 
attentive and cordial to Americans ; they have 



78 The People I've S wiled With: 

done countless favors to me, faster than I could 
thank them for, and when the Fourth of July- 
comes around they very often put an Ameri- 
can in the chair. The Savage is an ideal 
" Cave of Harmony," and I imagine it's one of 
the first places a member longs for when he is 
tired. 

I had a specially amusing experience at the 
Savage one evening. I had been in the House 
of Commons that day to hear a debate on the 
Irish question, and noticed that one of the 
smart Irish members, Mr. Biggar, had a 
peculiar delivery. The annual dinner of the 
Savage occurred that evening, and as my name 
was on the list as " Wilder, M. P.," I took 
advantage of the double meaning of the 
initial letters to say I would imitate one of 
my fellow-members. Then I " took off " Mr. 
Biggar; from the amount of applause that 
followed I imagined I had made a hit ; a 
moment later I was sure of it, for Biggar him- 
self, who was present, exclaimed, loud enough 
for every one to hear : 

" Begorra, I didn't know there were two of 
me." 

Another club that "goes in" for enjoyment, 
and gets it every time, is the Lyric, which is 
what a New York boy would call " awful 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 79 

toney." The Earl of Londesborough is chair- 
man, and on the managing committee are Sir 
Julius Goldsmidt, Lord Charles Beresford the 
famous sea fighter, Henry Irving, Lord De 
Lisle, Sir Arthur Sullivan, Dr. Morell Macken- 
zie, Lord Dudley, and Mr. Bancroft, while the 
membership is of very high order. The Lyric 
has both summer and winter quarters ; their 
town house is on Piccadilly and their summer 
place at St. Ann's, where they have a water front 
of a thousand feet, a beautiful lawn and gar- 
den, cricket ground, tennis court, etc. They 
give open-air concerts and recitations in 
warm weather; in winter they give parties, 
balls, and theatricals, having a handsome little 
theatre in their town house. Applause is not 
always as loud at the Lyric as at the Savage ; 
many of the members take their fun gently, 
but they take it all the same, and can stand a 
great deal of it. They've smiled with me 
frequently and in large numbers, and always 
treated me as kindly as if I were one of them- 
selves, instead of a little chap from the other 
side of the Atlantic. 

Another amusement-loving institution, 
noted as being the favorite of the Prince of 
Wales, is the New Club. A peculiarity of it is 
that the entertainments generally are given at 



8o The People I've Smiled With: 

midnight ; this seems to have come about 
because the artists upon whom the club 
depends are disengaged at that hour. The 
New Club is so exclusive that if a fellow is 
invited there he is pretty sure to let his friends 
know it. 

There is a peculiar club in London called 
the Odd Volumes. The object is conviviality 
and mutual admiration — so the form of invi- 
tation informs the visitor. It meets once a 
month and has a dinner; each member con- 
nected with it publishes a book, and a limited 
number of copies is given to each. One or two 
are saved for the club, and then the manuscript 
and the type and everything else pertaining 
to the book is destroyed. In course of time 
these volumes become very valuable. 

One of the most enjoyable clubs is called 
The Gallery ; Sir Coutts Lindsay is its leading 
spirit. It was there that I first had the 
pleasure of smiling with our brilliant fellow- 
countryman, Bret Harte, who is a London 
favorite. Whistler, the artist, I saw there 
also ; it was the night of a reception given the 
Prince of Wales, but "Jimmy," as Whistler is 
always called by his acquaintances, strolled in 
unconcernedly in white duck trousers, a little 
white straw hat with a big blue band, a single 



Recoltedions of a Merry Little Life. 8i 

eye-glass, a merry laugh and a " chipper " 
manner, just as if he and the Prince had 
swapped jack-knives and been fishing together 
f^ver since Adam was a boy. Everybody can 
tell you funny stories about Whistler, but 
everybody likes him, so of course he's a first- 
rate fellow. 

An American visiting English clubs is sure 
to be surprised at the number of titles he hears. 
Besides the nobility, nearly every one seems to 
have a special handle to his name. Colonels 
are not quite as numerous as in Kentucky or 
Georgia, but for Captains and Majors, why, we 
can't hold a candle to them. It was reserved 
for me, an American, to " knock them out " 
on rank in a most unexpected manner. An old 
waiter — an ex-soldier — at the Savage called me 
Marshall several times one evening, and was 
reprimanded by one of the members for 
addressing a guest by his first name. " His 
name!" exclaimed the old fellow, looking 
astonished — and then turning said, "Why, your 
honor, I thought Marshal his rank ! " General 
Grant prophesied that I should be a general, 
but the old waiter went him one better, and 
the title stuck to me for a while, too. 

Ah, those London club men know how to 
enjoy life and make it enjoyable for other 



62 The People I've Smiled With. 

people ! Many an American I've met and 
chatted with about one club or other, where 
both of us had spent whole hours and evenings 
smiling at the good things heard and seen. To 
talk about them, though, when three thousand 
miles away, takes the smile off of a fellow's 
face for at least a moment or two. 



CHAPTER XI. 

Henry Irving. — A Most Remarkable Man. — Discussed 
AS AN Actor — Agreed Upon as a Man. — He was my 
Friend. — Always Says and Does the Right Thing. — 
My Impudence and his Good Nature. —Always at his 
Best.— Never Talks of Himself. — When does he 
Sleep ?— A Talking Face. — His Delicate Way of 
Doing Things. — Kind to Americans. — His Little 
Joke on Me. — Henry Irving, Junior. 

To most Americans the biggest man in all 
London is Henry Irving, and I don't wonder 
at it. Even before he came over here and 
gave his matchless representations with the 
best-trained company that ever has played in 
New York, Americans who were abroad knew 
a great deal about him. It is the proper thing 
in London to go to the Lyceum Theatre. 
Some nights the house is crowded and some 
nights there seems to be a very thin audience, 
but there is never any " paper " used to fill 
the seats, and there is always some one there 
whom you would not miss seeing for a great 
deal. 

A few years ago one of the London weekly 
83 



84 The People I've Smiled With. 

papers, I think it was Edinund Yates's Worlds 
published a cartoon of a " first night " at the 
Lyceum, and all the faces of the people in the 
stalls and boxes were those of men well known 
in Europe and America. There was little or 
no exaggeration in it. A man in London will 
give up almost anything except his own wed- 
ding or the burial of his wife in order to " take 
in " a first night at the Lyceum. People dis- 
cuss Irving over there just as we do here. 
Some are tremendously critical, others lauda- 
tory and won't stand a word of depreciation, 
but both sides meet on common ground when 
they come to talk about Irving's personality. 

I had a great deal to do with Mr. Irving 
when I was in London. It was not my fault, 
for he made a great deal of me. I never had a 
chance to impose myself upon him, for so sure 
as anything turned up in which it seemed to 
me that he might be useful to me, he thought 
of it before I had a chance to do so, and pre- 
sented himself either personally or by letter in 
exactly the right way. He is such a thorough 
gentleman that he cannot imagine any one 
else being otherwise, and that sort of thing is 
inexpressibly delightful, even to an American 
from the backwoods like Yours Truly. 

Irving is one of the busiest men in London, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 85 

No theatre manager on the face of the earth 
gives closer attention to all the details of his 
business, but Irving has such a solid and well- 
arranged brain that he can attend to all his 
private business and yet find time to go every- 
where he wishes to see anything, or go where 
other people wish to see him; and between 
these two demands upon his time he is com- 
pelled to be almost omnipresent. 

I asked some one how it was that Irving 
seemed to know exactly how always to do the 
right thing at the right time. The answer 
was, " It is because of his theatrical training." 
I doubt it, but if that is true I wish all my 
acquaintances could serve an apprenticeship 
upon some dramatic stage, Mr. Irving's pref- 
erably. 

One time when I was in London, and knew 
Irving was coming to America, I thought it 
would be a good thing for me to give him a let- 
ter of introduction. That's exactly the sort of 
fool I was. I did not stop for a moment to 
think that he was known here a hundred times as 
well as I ; but, honestly, it occurred to me that 
he was an Englishman and I was an American, 
and consequently I could do him some good. 
So I went around to the theatre and I said to 
him : " Mr. Irving, I would like to see you a 



86 The People I've Smiled With: 

minute. I have some friends in America — " 
" Ah, yes," said he, " my dear boy, how many 
seats do they want ? Tliey shall have them." 
I think about that time I was as red as the best 
boiled lobster that any one ever saw at Fulton 
Market, but I succeeded in stammering out : 
" They don't want any seats at all ; that is not 
what I came for. I simply wanted to tell you 
that these friends of mine in America would 
do anything in the world for me, and I'd like 
to give you a letter of introduction to them." 
There was nothing left for me but to sit down 
and write him some letters, and he took them 
all very kindly. But I think if about the 
time I took pen in hand he had got up and 
kicked me out of the theatre, I should have 
felt a great deal more comfortable, and cer- 
tainly had less reason to despise myself. 

Irving is an absolute wonder to me. I have 
had to make it a business to study prominent 
men here and abroad, and of course I made a 
study of him, but the more I observed him and 
listened to him, the more astonished I was at 
the greatness of his knowledge and the breadth 
of that head of his. People tell me sometimes, 
" You ought to see so-and-so at such a place 
if you want to see him at his best." Well, I 
have seen Irving everywhere, — at receptions, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^7 

theatres, clubs, and in the streets. I have 
seen him riding, have seen him eating, and 
I never yet saw him when he was not at his 
best. 

One delightful thing about him is, that you 
never hear him speak of himself ; and another, 
which is like unto it, is this : you never hear 
him say an unkind word of anybody else. I 
have no doubt that he is quite as good a judge 
of human nature as I, but that is nonsense, for 
of course he is a great deal better one. Never- 
theless, no matter whom he meets he has the 
most courteous method of looking at them, that 
one can imagine. He will listen to the longest 
and most ponderous speech in the world by 
way of introduction, and not appear the least 
bit bored, and then, the moment he speaks, 
you, or whoever he is speaking to, will feel 
entirely at ease. I confess that after I had 
seen him a few times I was completely awed 
when in his presence. If he does not know 
everything about everybody that stands before 
him for an instant, then I am no judge of 
human nature. He will look at you as cour- 
teously as if you were the Prince of Wales or 
President of the United States, but all the 
while, if you have any eyes in your head, you 
are obliged to see that he is looking you 



88 The People I've Smiled With : 

through and through and taking your measure 
entirely. 

I expected to see him off his dignity, per- 
haps occasionally out of temper, at his theater. 
If a manager cannot get out of temper in his 
own theatre, where on earth can he ? But no ; 
in spite of the little quarrels and troubles and 
tiffs that go on in every dramatic company on 
the face of the earth, and probably every other 
company besides, Mr. Irving is imperturbable, 
cool, and smiling, brushing away all other 
people's difficulties in the gentlest manner in 
the world, and never intimating by look, word, 
or deed that he has any whatever of his own. 
No matter how small the difference that may 
occur between two of his people, he never says 
an unkind word to either, but devotes himself 
to adjusting the difficulty and leaving both of 
them better pleased with each other than they 
ever were before, and with a new and grateful 
appreciation of the tact of the manager. 

One of his young men, Weedon Grossmith, 
told me of his own first appearance at the 
Lyceum, and how uncomfortable he was. He 
felt that he was on the boards of the first 
theatre in England, with the leading actor of 
the English-speaking race, and before one of 
the most critical audiences of London, Well, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. *9 

when he came out to speak his lines, he felt as 
if the roof of his mouth and the tip of his 
tongue were glued together, and his knees 
shook beneath him every time that Irving 
came in sight. But Irving would go up to 
him, pat him on the shoulder, and say : " Don't 
be foolish, my dear boy ; cheer up, I am with 
you ; you are doing first rate. If you please 
me, what on earth have you to worry about 
regarding other people ? " 

Irving so "laid himself out " on me, as the 
saying is over here, that he was of immense 
assistance to me in every direction. The first 
time he heard one of my alleged performances 
was at a reception given by Sir Coutts Lindsay. 
Well, Irving was there and heard me. He 
turned to Bret Harte and said, " Who is this 
little chap ? " Bret Harte told him, and that 
evening Irving took pains to meet me in the 
coat-room and, said, " See here, little fellow ; I 
want you to go in the cab with me." I did so. 
He went down to my hotel, and we sat there 
talking for a couple of hours in the cool morn- 
ing air. He asked a great deal about America 
and the people over here, and sat there smoking 
and listening to me, putting in a word himself 
once in a while, but evidently more anxious to 
listen than to talk. He spoke of the many kind 



90 The People I 've Smiled With : 

friends he had over here and I told him of 
others whom he would find, but all the while I 
was fearing that his courtesy to me was de* 
priving him of needed rest. I learned better 
afterward ; he is what we call a regular night- 
owl. I suppose he must sleep sometimes — 
humanity cannot get along without it, but I 
don't know of any one who ever saw him on 
his way home to go to bed. I remember one 
night very late — long after the theatre had 
closed, he went with me to call on Charles 
Wyndham. We sat there chatting for a 
couple of hours, and suddenly he said, " I guess 
I'll run over and see Labouchere for an hour." 
It was then two o'clock in the morning. He 
called a cab, went over to see Labouchere, and 
came back at about four o'clock just as Wynd- 
ham and I and the other fellows were adjourn- 
ing. It seems as if he never slept. They say 
a weasel sleeps with one eye open ; I guess 
Irving must sleep with both eyes open. 

Irving has the most expressive face that any 
one can imagine. When you see him on the 
stage with his " make-up " on, it is expressive 
enough for any purpose, but sitting face to 
face with him, or sitting in a chair en tete-h-tete 
you get an idea of his features that no stage 
representation, behind glaring lights, can pos- 



RecollecUo7is of a Merry Little Life. 9* 

sibly convey. A friend of his told me a story 
which I know Mr. Irving nowadays can afford 
to have repeated. It was about a law-suit in 
which he was brought up during th« early days 
of his dramatic experience, when he had a great 
deal more brains than money. At that time 
he was playing in Manchester, and was said to 
be dreamy, and allowing his mind to run off 
his business all the while — very much as is the 
case with great men everywhere, when they 
are brooding over something new to precipitate 
upon the public. He had run up a great many 
bills which he was unable to pay, and the judge 
said to him in court : " So here you are ! Too 
young a man to have been spending money so 
fast. You have been living too fast, and here 
you are." Irving did not speak a single word, 
but his face very distinctly said : " Well, sir, there 
were two or three chances in a hundred that I 
would fail. I have had to be among some people 
in high life. I have had to live above my 
means for the sake of the m^:*^s I expected to 
make afterward. I have had to be around 
among these people, and take my share of the 
expense, so as to make a point. I have lost it 
this time, but I am willing to take the conse- 
quences, and I know sooner or later I will suc- 
ceed." " He said all this by his expression," 



92 The People I've Smiled With: 

said this friend ; " it was impossible to read it 
in any other way." 

Like all other great men Mr. Irving is quite 
sensitive ia spite of his admirable self-command; 
all artists are. Why, there's Patti, who has 
been on the stage as long as she can remember, 
yet once in a while she is so nervous that she 
can scarcely control herself. She is also very 
sympathetic, which is a kindred quality to 
nervousness, of course. One night I saw her at 
the Lyceum Theatre in a box with her husband 
Nicolini, Mr. William Beattie Kingston of the 
London Telegraph, and Henry Ward Beecher. 
Irving and Terry were on the stage playing 
" Faust," and Patti cried like a baby all 
through the performance. After the per- 
formance was over, Irving went into the box 
with a beautiful fan in his hand. He walked 
up to Patti and said, " Ah, it's rather warm 
here, isn't it ; fan yourself." She took the fan, 
opened it, and commenced fanning herself; 
pretty soon she chanced to see engraved on the 
side of one of the ribs of the fan, " Presented 
to Madame Patti by Henry Irving." That 
was Mr. Irving's way of making a presentation 
speech. 

Irving is specially kind to Americans. He 
was so before he ever came over here, and I 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 9J 

believe before he ever thought of coming here. 
American actors of all degrees can testify to 
his courtesy and kindness, not only to the 
extent of seats in the theatre but in many 
more substantial ways. Some of our best 
actors have played in his theatre, and their 
heartiest encouragement has come from Mr. 
Irving himself. Like all other great men he 
has no fear of rivalry. No one enjoys better 
acting by some one else better than he. 

Beside being extremely courteous, Irving can 
bevery funny ; no one can tell a joke better than 
he. Seated close beside you, where he does not 
have to think of what tone of voice to take, is 
different from hearing him in a theatre where 
he has probably to take an unnatural tone in 
order to carry his words to the gallery and the 
extreme wall of a theatre. His voice has 
charming play and intonation, and when he 
tells a story, not a particle of the point can be 
lost. 

Here is a letter which Mr. Irving sent me in 
acknowledgment of a lot of my photographs 
sent him : 

" Lyceum Theatre, 27th July, 1886. 
"Dear Mr. Wilder:— 

" I ought before this to have acknowledged 
your photographs which you so kindly sent me. 



94 The People I've Smiled With: 

They pleasantly remind me of some of the 
genial and skilful characterizations that I have 
seen. With all good wishes, sincerely your 
friend, 

" Henry Irving." 

Mr. Irving knows how to play a practical 
joke once in awhile without being at all ugly, 
and yet getting enough out of it to make a 
very amusing story afterward. I remember 
his once asking me whether I would like to 
go down and entertain a party of Greeks. I 
promptly sent my mind backward to my 
school days and recalled what I had read in 
Greek history about the peculiarities of the 
people, and I made up my mind that they 
would be very easy to entertain because the 
Greek character was so intellectual. When I 
arrived at the place designated, I was very glad 
I had come, and I mentally patted myself on 
the head for my characterization of the people, 
for I found a party of the loveliest ladies im- 
aginable, magnificently dressed, and a lot of 
gentlemen of fine face and figure and with 
most intellectual countenances. I thought I 
had the easiest task in the world to entertain 
them, and I went at it as a labour of love, — no, 
not a labour, but a pleasure. But alas! they had 
no appreciation of American humour. It was an 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 95 

utterly terrible ordeal. Jokes that the most 
intelligent people over here would simply 
double up at, they passed by as merely so much 
wind. Finally I completely exhausted myself 
and lost heart. I had talked for half an hour 
with no visible result, and then to add to my 
misery the hostess came to me and said, " Now, 
Mr. Wilder, can't you say something funny." 
Imagine my feelings ! I said, " Madam, I assure 
you I have done the best I could." Then I 
called my cab, and it was not until some time 
afterward that I learned, through some of the 
people to whom Mr. Irving had told this story 
in his inimitable manner, that not a single one 
of the party understood a word of English. 
Whenever afterward I had occasion to pass the 
door of the house where I met these Greeks, or 
even to go into that portion of London, a cold 
shiver has got into me that lasted for several 
minutes. I forgave Irving for it, though. It 
was worth doing for the sake of giving him such 
a capital story to tell on me. 

I was rather startled one evening at a recep- 
tion given by Charles Wyndham, of the Crite- 
rion Theatre, — an actor to whom thousands of 
Americans are immensely indebted for the 
fun he gave them when he was over here — at 
hearing the servant announce " Henry Irving, 



96 The People I've Smiled With: 

Jr." Turning around, I discovered a young 
man, slender, long-legged, with very dark hair 
and heavy eyebrows. He had exactly his 
father's profile, and wore eyeglasses. He is a 
charming fellow to talk to, and very proud 
indeed of his name and parentage. His man- 
ner is as gentlemanly as his father's — it would 
be impossible to praise it higher — and he has 
that pleasant, humourous smile which his 
father always wears. He told me an amusing 
story of an incident at an East End theatre 
where, just as the heroine had dropped on her 
knees and got off the speech, " Abandoned ! 
Lost! Oh, heavens! what is there left for 
me?" and the curtain was coming down, a 
vendor in the pit shouted out, "Apples! 
Oranges ! Pies and Cakes ! " 

England contains a great many famous men, 
great men of every description, men whom 
Americans may do well to study and imitate ; 
but after several seasons in London, and after 
having had all notables pointed out to me by 
kind friends, after having chatted pleasantly 
with most of them and been kindly treated by 
all, I must still say that the most interesting 
man in all England for an American to study 
is Henry Irving. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Americans in England. — No End to Them. — They are 
Well Treated. — Not Fair to Our Minister. — Mr. 
Phelps. — Fourth of July at the Legation. — An 
American Monte Cristo. — The School Treat. — Eng- 
lish Shops and American Customers. — Howard 
Paul. — Unfortunate Yankees. 

If I wanted to meet a great many Americans 
and could not look into heaven, I think the 
next place I should prefer to go would be Lon- 
don. I always meet so many Americans over 
there that I am almost tempted to wonder 
whether something has not occurred in my 
own country to clean out two or three large 
cities, and send abroad everybody who has 
money enough to take care of themselves 
away from home, as well as quite a num- 
ber who do not seem to be in that enviable 
condition. I don't at all wonder that Mr. James 
Gordon Bennett has begun to publish a daily 
edition of the New York Herald in that city. 
I only wonder that he didn't do it before, for 
while the English are courteous and attentive 
to Americans in almost every other way, they 

97 



9 8 The People I've Smiled With : 

give them very little home news in the daily 
papers. If you look carefully through any of 
the leading London dailies you may be re- 
warded by finding a New York date, but under 
it all the information you will get will be that 
coffee has advanced nine points, or that there 
was a little flurry in some railroad shares on 
the Stock Exchange the day before. News 
such as all Americans long for when they are 
away from home — some of them to the extent 
of cabling over specially for facts about mat- 
ters that would not be worth thinking about 
at home — cannot be had in England for love 
or money. I predict an immense success for 
Mr. Bennett's London edition of the Herald. 

I can't blame Americans for flocking to 
London, and, indeed, to England in general, 
for all who deserve it are quite as well treated 
there as at home ; better, in fact, for, as already 
intimated several times in this book, English 
people have a quantity and quality of leisure 
that is entirely unknown over here. For an 
American who has been to England to come 
back and say the English people are boors, or 
stiff, or suspicious, or unobliging, is to say that 
he is not a representative American himself. 
Some of our people have come to grief by not 
knowing exactly how to act in certain circum- 



ReKollections of a Merry Little Life. 99 

stances. For instance, if I were to stop a man 
in the street in London and ask him a question 
about something near by, he would stare at me 
an instant and then pass on in silence ; but if I 
were to say, "I beg your pardon, but I am an 
American, and I should be very glad to know 
about so and so," he would be quite as cour- 
teous and obliging as a Philadelphian, and 
everybody knows that a Philadelphian will go 
without his dinner for the sake of answering 
any question from a person who is a stranger 
in that city. 

A great deal of the kindly feeling for Ameri- 
cans in England, especially in London, is due 
to the courtesy of our ministers at the Court 
of St. James. Mr. Motley, Mr. Lowell, Mr. 
Phelps, and others have been unwearying 
in their endeavours to make the time of our 
travelling public pass pleasantly. I doubt 
whether any one who has not been in the dip- 
lomatic service can realize the amount of effort 
which these gentlemen have put forth in mak- 
ing Americans feel at home in the mother 
country. I have occasionally heard some ill- 
natured Americans say that our minister in 
London (if he didn't happen to belong to the 
speaker's own political party) didn't seem to 
do anything except look after Americans so 



loo The People I've Smiled With: 

cially, but for my part I cannot see how he has 
time to do anything else. Most Americans 
seem to think this is all the minister was 
put there for, and that at the shortest possible 
notice our minister can present them at Court. 
Some of them act as if her Majesty, the 
Queen, was in some way subject to the orders 
of the American minister, and that all that 
functionary has to do, when one of his country- 
men calls upon him, is to ring for a messen- 
ger boy, send him to the Queen's residence, 
and ask her Majesty to get into her robes of 
state and her best crown, and be prepared to 
receive an immediate call. 

My own experience at the American Lega- 
tion in London was principally during the term 
of Minister Phelps, who with his wife has kept 
open house in delightful style ever since he 
went over. Every Friday afternoon Mr. Phelps 
would give a reception, at which any American 
who was of any account at home v/as welcome, 
and there would meet many of his fellow- 
countrymen and have a most enjoyable time. 
A great day for Americans in London is the 
Fourth of July, and then admission to the 
Legation is necessarily by invitation, for it 
could not possibly hold one-tenth of all who 
wish to go. On the last Fourth of July when 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. loi 

I was there, in 1887, were present Mr, Blaine, 
James Russell Lowell, Mrs. James Brown 
Potter, Mrs. John Bigelow of New York, Mrs. 
John Sherwood, Emma Nevada, and a number 
of other representative Americans, from all re- 
spectable classes and professions. Of course, 
nearly everyone who did not receive invitations 
felt hurt, and some of them wrote ugly letters 
to the American newspapers ; but I speak 
from personal knowledge when I say if they 
knew the circumstances they would have been 
glad at being left out, for the place was so 
crowded that it was almost impossible to move 
about. Yet Mr. Phelps and his wife seemed 
omnipresent, looking after their guests and 
seeing that by no chance should any American 
fail to have a pleasant time. 

There is one very famous man in London 
who deserves more than passing mention. He 
is Colonel J. T. North. I am sorry that he does 
not hail from the United States; but he is an 
American, nevertheless — a South American 
Monte Cristo. Although he is an Englishman 
by birth, nobody ever alludes to him except as 
an American. Thirty years ago he was a work- 
man at Leeds, earning thirty shillings a week, 
and thinking himself remarkably well off at 
that ; he was shrewd, intelligent, and clever, 



I02 The People I've Smiled With: 

and in time became foreman of the agricultural 
implement factory of the famous firm of 
Messrs. Fowler. His employers sent him to 
South America to put up some machinery, and 
while there he saw an opportunity to put up a 
fortune for himself. He became interested in 
railroads, saw the fertilizing advantages of 
nitre, obtained control of vast nitre-beds by 
government concessions, amassed millions, be- 
came the " nitre king," returned to England, 
and bought a beautiful country place in Kent. 
His wealth and ability soon made him a leader 
both in business and society. He has estab- 
lished new enterprises in England, and for- 
tunes have accumulated rapidly in his hands. 
He became popularly known as " North the 
Money-maker." He was offered the colonelcy 
of a volunteer regiment, and made Master of the 
Mid-Kent Hounds, a title which I suspect 
pleased him a great deal the more. Now the 
whole world and his wife bows to him. They 
not only bow to him, but they run after him 
and cling to the skirts of his coat. 

In spite of all his business responsibilities, 
Colonel North is a jolly, good-natured fellow, 
generous to his friends, kind to everybody, and 
so obliging that everybody who wishes to make 
money tries to be a friend of his. Whenever 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 103 

a scheme is up for making money, the projec- 
tors go first to Colonel North, and if they secure 
him the fortune of that enterprise is made. 
Wherever the Colonel goes in business, there 
goes the world that has money to invest. His 
name seems synonymous with immediate and 
large profit. His expenditures are liberal 
almost beyond belief. If he takes a fancy to 
a thing he buys it, whether it be a horse, a 
warehouse, a tavern, or a historical loom. 
Everybody who knows the city knows the 
old VVoolpack Tavern." Well, the Colonel has 
bought that. He bought Kirkstall Abbey, and 
presented it to his native town of Leeds. He 
bought Mr. Frith's latest Academy success, 
''The Road to Ruin," paying 6000 guineas for 
it, and waiving the copyright for engraving. 
I was told that a short time ago the Colonel 
started to float a South American bank sub- 
scription. The books were no sooner opened 
than the price of shares shot up to a high pre- 
mium. 

The first time I met the Colonel I was intro- 
duced to him by an American friend, Mr. 
Horton, who lives with his charming family at 
the Victoria Hotel in London all the year 
round, and to whom I am indebted for many 
kind and thoughtful acts. I went out to Colonel 



I04 The People I've Smiled With : 

North's one day when he was giving what is 
called a school-treat. He had purchased a large 
tent for $5000; I asked him, "Isn't that a 
good deal of money for a tent for an occasion 
of this kind?" "Well," said he, "I do this 
thing once or twice a year, and every time I've 
hired a tent I've paid almost as much as it was 
worth, so now I have bought it." 

He entertained over one thousand children 
that afternoon, and had a number of famous 
artists to amuse them. The school-treat, as it 
is called in that country, is something not 
known here. They take all the scholars of 
some London public school by railroad, in the 
morning, to the house of some well-known man 
to enjoy themselves on his ground, and the 
owner does all he can to make them remember 
the occasion happily. Besides some recitations 
and music of a high order. Colonel North had a 
Punch and Judy show, and a neighbouring min- 
strel show with what the English call "the 
correct imitation of an American darkey." A 
bountiful lunch was provided, and Mrs. North 
herself, with a bevy of wonderfully pretty 
young ladies in'big white housekeeping aprons, 
were busy in making sandwiches and putting 
up other wholesome food. The affair lasted 
from ten in the morning till five in the after- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 105 

noon, and at the end of it balloons were sent up 
and every child was given a toy of some kind. 
In the afternoon the children were all grouped 
together and photographed; then they marched 
off for tea in the big tent. When the curate 
said grace, how the good things did disappear ! 
It was equal to the newsboys' picnic on one of 
Starin's barges. I am sure that sort of thing 
would go well in the United States in the 
vicinity of New York, only I don't know ex- 
actly where the boys would look for a Colonel 
North to give it. 

Many of the London shops make great ef- 
forts to obtain American patronage, for there 
is so much of it. Besides travelling Americans 
seem to care so little for the value of money. 
They will buy anything they fancy, regardless 
of the price. In many of these shops, the 
American flag is displayed to catch the passing 
Yankee. There is only one brand of American 
whom the English don't like ; it is the shop- 
ping fiend — the person who goes into a place, 
looks at everything, asks a great many ques- 
tions, prices almost everything, and then goes 
out without buying anything. It is the Eng- 
lish custom to purchase something, no matter 
how little, to compensate the establishment for 
whatever trouble you may have made. 



io6 The People I've Siniled With: 

One American who has been on the other 
side so long that the present generation would 
probably regard him as an Englishman born 
and bred is Howard Paul, whom old-timers at 
the theatres here will remember as the giver of 
some very clever entertainments of the imper- 
sonation line. Paul has made London his 
home for almost fifty years, I believe ; never- 
theless, he is still a true American, — nervous, 
excitable, generous, sociable, humourous, and, 
I am happy to say, very prosperous. 

There are some Americans in London to 
whom I would rather not allude, but whom I 
ought to mention by way of warning. They 
are those who have gone over there with the 
desire to improve their financial condition, and 
with a vague notion, Micawber-like, that some- 
thing will turn up to their advantage. If any 
of my readers happen to belong to that class — 
which I admit contains a great many good fel- 
lows — I beg to inform them London is the 
wrong place for them. The American who 
thinks that the Englishman is a stupid fellow, 
whom anybody can get around with any sort 
of scheme, is bound to woeful disappointment. 
He is doomed to come back home in the steer- 
age, and even then he is likely to get his ticket 
as a matter of charity from the American Lega- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^o? 

cfon or from some good-natured brother coun- 
tryman. I found a great many Americans 
stranded there and anxious to get away. A 
number of them had gone over there with the 
same purpose which carried me — that is to say, 
to give entertainments, but they did not seem 
to have learned the business properly before 
they left home. Entertaining — that is, reading 
and reciting, singing, playing, etc. — has become 
a high art on the other side of the water, and 
to succeed a man must do one of two things : 
he must either be better than anybody else in 
his line, or he must strike an entirely new and 
original vein. 

A lot of these good fellows and women seem 
to think that they would do first-rate if they 
could only get the indorsement of the Prince 
of Wales, and it is a very unpleasant task to 
try to make them understand that one thing is 
absolutely pre-requisite to such an indorse- 
ment ; and that is ability to entertain the 
Prince of Wales. Some people have it, some 
haven't ; that's all there is about it. All that 
I have been able to tell them on the subject I 
have very cheerfully done and I propose to say 
something about it later on, hoping that it will 
make the way easy for some, and keep a num- 
ber of others from going away from home. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Buffalo Bill. — He Met Old Friends. — A Lion in 
Society. — Nate Saulsbury. — Jack Burke. — Indians in 
Drawing-rooms. — I Entertained Them. — A Patriotic 
Explanation. — The Boys Told Stories. — One about 
Ned Buntline. — Buck Taylor's Pie. 

America has sent a great many famous 
beings to England, and the English have al- 
ways taken them at their full value. We sent 
them Henry Ward Beecher, the horse Iro- 
quois, and the yacht America. We sent them 
John Lothrop Motley and George Francis 
Train, and Lawrence Barrett and McKee 
Rankin, and Minister Phelps. All these dis- 
similar beings were immensely successful 
through their respective merits. But the 
greatest, most unapproachable, thoroughly 
howling success that America ever sent to 
London was Buffalo Bill. 

Some people have talked of Bill's success in 
London as being strange. It was not strange 
at all. The great mass of the English people 
think of America as a place principally infested 
by Indians, bears, and hunters, and they took 
io8 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life 109 

Bill and his show as a sample of that sort of 
thing. There are any number of the common 
people who, if they were to land at Castle 
Garden, would like to have a rifle in their hands 
so as to pick off a buffalo or knock a grizzly 
out of a high tree, and I have no doubt many 
of them landing in that way keep their hands 
closely pressed to the top of their heads, for 
fear that a savage will suddenly start out of 
the Field Building or the Produce Exchange 
and attempt to take their scalps. I do not 
exactly know how they think business is done 
in New York, but probably they imagine that 
there is a guard of soldiers around each of the 
banks and also around the Stock Exchange, to 
keep the Indians from rushing in and cleaning 
out the crowd and making off with all the 
plunder. 

But these were not the only people who 
crowded to the Wild West Show. A great 
many English noblemen and other gentlemen 
have been coming over here for years to hunt 
big game ; society and the newspapers haven't 
got hold of them, for they didn't come for that 
sort of thing. It is generally the bogus noble- 
men and gentlemen that New York society takes 
up strongly and then drops in a hurry. Well, 
these people always went West, of course, in 



lid The People I've Smiled With: 

search of their game, and consulted our army 
officers, who are the most hospitable and atten- 
tive hosts in the world, and the officers selected 
guides for them. A few years ago Bill was the 
favorite guide for any army officer who wanted 
to go out to look for game, consequently Bill 
was guide for hundreds of these gentlemen, 
and they discovered what a splendid good 
fellow he was. First they learned to like him, 
and then they heartily respected him, and he 
never did anything to make them change their 
opinion of him — he could not, for in spite of 
the prairie style which was his at that time, he 
was born well and well-bred, and had always 
kept his heart and his manners in good working 
order; so when he started for London all these 
people remembered him and talked about him. 
They talked about him a long time before- 
hand ; each one of them was unconsciously an 
advance agent, one of the very best that 
possibly could be provided. 

In fact, as one nobleman, whose name I 
won't give, said to me once, confidentially, " It 
was a great relief to me to have Buffalo Bill 
come over here. I have done a great deal of 
shooting in the West, and though I say it my- 
self, as you Americans put it, I did it pretty 
well. But I brought home so many antlers, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. m 

and skins, and furs, that it seemed to some of 
my acquaintances I must have got some of 
them with a golden bullet or at least with a 
handful of silver shot. Bill had always been 
my guide, so he no sooner landed and became 
acquainted than people began to ask him 
about some of my exploits. They repeated to 
him the stories I had told them, and Bill, being 
a veracious man, had to admit I had told only 
the truth. In fact, he sometimes added a 
point or two which I had omitted, not so 
much out of modesty as for fear that if I told 
the whole truth nothing that I said would be 
believed. That set me up at once among my 
acquaintances, and as soon as some other 
sportsmen heard of it they also hurried to Bill 
for certificates of character and sportsman- 
ship." 

But this was not all of it. Bill always 
seemed to know exactly what to do and say. 
1 have heard many Englishmen, and many 
English ladies, talk about him, and all were as 
delighted with his manners and personality as 
with his show. I must express my pride and 
delight, as an American, at the figure Bill cut 
in society. He fills a full-dress suit as grace- 
fully as he does the hunter's buckskins, carries 
himself as elegantly as any English gentleman 



112 The People I've Smiled With: 

of leisure, uses good grammar, speaks with a 
drawing-room tone of voice, and moves as 
leisurely as if he had nothing to do all his life 
but exist beautifully. He tells a good joke, 
but knows when not to carry the fun too far. 
Every friend he has made over there I am 
sure he has kept. I ought to know% for most 
of them have told me so themselves. 

Bill would have made a tremendous success, 
all alone by himself, but it would be unfair not 
to admit that a great deal of the popularity and 
business success of the Wild West Show was 
due to the admirable business management of 
William's partner, " Nate " Saulsbury. Nate 
is, as a good many Americans know, quite as 
much of a character in his way as Buffalo Bill 
himself. He is one of the funniest comedians 
who ever walked the American boards, and can 
play high tragedy besides, but to see him at 
his best one wants to see him among a few 
familiars and hear him tell a story. He tells as 
much with his face as he does with his tongue, 
and that is saying a great deal, for though I 
have heard a number of his stories, " first off," 
as the saying is, there was never a word too 
much or a word too little. The point came in 
exactly right, and was as sharp as that of a net- 
tle, though it never stung an\'body. Nate was 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 113 

quite as gentlemanly as Bill, and if he did not 
make as much of a name over there, it was only 
because he was so attentive to business all the 
while that he had not much time to go about. 
Everyone, however, who ever met him wanted 
to see him again, and knowing his sympathetic 
and obliging nature, I have no doubt that his 
principal sorrow in England was that he could 
not respond to all the invitations which were 
showered upon him. 

Another American who contributed largely 
to the success of the Wild West Show was 
Jack Burke, or Major John Burke as he is fre- 
quently known in America, though all his old 
acquaintances persist in calling him Jack. 
Jack is about as handsome and distinguished- 
looking a fellow as Buffalo Bill himself — tall, 
straight, deep-chested, with a fine head set mag- 
nificently on his shoulders, a very intelligent 
face brimming over with good-nature, and an eye 
that begins to laugh as soon as the point of 
anybody's joke is reached. Jack is one of the 
heartiest fellows the Lord ever made. How 
he managed to get through all his business and 
yet have time to talk to everybody and cap 
every man's joke with a better one, is one of 
the things that I can't find out. If I could, I 
would be a millionnaire in my business inside of 



114 The People I've Smiled With: 

five years. Jack was one of the fellows whom 
I was continually meeting wherever I went, 
and, knowing him very well, I used to make my 
way to his side as soon as possible. The num- 
ber of times I have heard the two of us alluded 
to as " the long and the short of it " — reference 
of course being to our comparative sizes — can 
hardly be stated by all the figures in a first- 
class arithmetic. 

The Wild West Show was almost always 
crowded, but on one particular occasion I saw 
an audience there that would have delighted 
the soul of a dynamiter if he could have got 
in, fully prepared for practical operations. It 
was a private exhibition and no one was al- 
lowed to be present except the invited guests. 
There wa? more royalty there than had been 
seen together outside of a royal residence for 
a long while. There were the Prince and Prin- 
cess of Wales, the King of Saxony, the King 
of Denmark, the King of Greece, the Crown 
Prince of Sweden and Norway, Crown Prince 
Rudolph of Austria, the hereditary Prince and 
Princess of Saxe-Meiningen, Princess Victoria 
of Prussia, Prince George of Greece, the Duke 
of Sparta, Prince Albert Victor of Wales, 
Prince George of Wales, the Princesses Victo- 
ria and Maud of Wales, Prince Louis of Baden, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 115 

and a great number of notable ladies and gen- 
tlemen-in-waiting. But the dynamiter wasn't 
there. 

Buffalo Bill was entertained almost every- 
where while he was in London ; so were a 
number of his Indians. People never seemed 
able to see enough of these redskins. They 
didn't stare at them as mere curiosities, as some 
Americans would, but they would first go to 
Major Burke, the manager, and say: "Mr. 
Burke, we'd like to have some of those Indians 
drop out to our place — Red Shirt and others, 
and we'd like to entertain them so that they 
would have a good time as well as we." Well, 
Jack Burke, being a friend of mine, would fre- 
quently say, " I guess you had better go and 
get Marshall Wilder, the American humorist ; 
he is just the man to have on hand for an af- 
fair of that kind." So they would finally send 
for me. I would go there with the rest of the 
guests and attempt to entertain the Indians. 
I got up a programme especially for them and 
had it first carefully explained to the whole 
gang ; then, whenever I was called to any place 
where they were, I gave the same old enter- 
tainment. Of course, being Indians, they could 
not sing out "Chestnut," and they learned 
to know just when the point would come in so 



ii6 The People I've Smiled With: 

they would laugh about the right time — laugh 
in their Indianic way, which is a sort of grunt. 
It made me feel rather sheepish afterward, 
though, when the hostess would come to me 
and say, " Mr. Wilder, how is it that the In- 
dians, who don't speak English, always seem 
to understand you ? " " Oh," I would have 
to say, after swallowing part of my conscience, 
" it isn't at all difficult ; art is everything in our 
country." 

It was very funny to see those Indians in an 
English parlor; they would sit, with their 
red paint on, as dignified as if they were royal 
personages — and about half of them really did 
imagine themselves to be such, in their own 
country. If they were called upon to do any- 
thing they would always cheerfully respond, 
generally singing a love-song. An Indian love- 
song is one of the most original things in the 
world ; you would never imagine what it was 
unless you were told, and then you would 
scarcely believe your own ears. When a little 
present was given them, as frequently occurred, 
if it were a trinket or anything shining, their 
faces would brighten up in spite of all the 
paint that was on them. Even regarding these 
Indians, the delicacy of British hospitality 
showed out very plainly. I knew several la- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 1^7 

dies who sent cooks away out to the Wild West 
camp where the Indians belonged, just to find 
out how they cooked their meals, so that every- 
thing that was set before them should please 
them. That is the way the English have of 
treating everybody, from the highest to the 
lowest, when they attempt to entertain them. 

Of course Bill and Nate Saulsbury and Jack 
Burke were continually importuned for stories, 
and there aren't three better story-tellers on 
the face of the earth. So if the reader will 
remember that all they told were entirely new, 
and about a country and a state of society — to 
wit, that of our Western border — which was 
entirely new, strange, and unimaginable to 
most of the English people, it is easy to un- 
derstand that their stories were immensely 
popular. I don't propose to repeat any of 
them, because I am afraid the effect would be 
about the same as that of looking at an object 
through a diminishing glass. Besides, if they 
want their stories printed, they are quite com- 
petent to do it themselves, and I have no 
doubt they could do it a great deal better 
than I. 

When it came to some of the cowboys, how- 
ever, who also were steadily importuned for 
stories, there was a little drawing of the long- 



ii8 The People I've Smiled With: 

bow, the bow itself being longer than any 
English archer ever carried. I cannot blame 
the boys for it ; some of the Englishmen swal- 
lowed everything that was told them so un- 
questioningly that it was hard not to enlarge 
a little upon the facts, to put it mildly. I 
remember one of them telling about bucking 
horses, of which the company carried over a 
few carefully selected samples. An English 
man asked, " Why, do these horses really buck 
when they are in America?" The cowboy 
replied "Yes," and the Englishman said he 
had an impression it was one of the tricks of 
the business, and that the horses were taught 
to buck. "Oh, no," said the cowboy; "they 
are born that way, as you will find out if you 
ever buy an Indian pony without first having 
him examined by an expert. A most extraor- 
dinary thing happened to me once. I bought 
a pony in a hurry and jumped on his back, and 
he turned out to be a bucker. He kept on 
bucking for three whole days and nights." 
" Why," asked the Englishman, " how did you 
get your meals?" "Oh," said the cowboy, 
" that was all right ; the boys kept shying bis- 
cuits at me, and I caught them on the fly." 
"Well, but how did you get anything to drink?" 
" Well," said the cowboy, " we were near a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 1 1 9 

little brook, and every time the horse bucked 
I scooped up a little water in my hand and 
drank it that way." I don't suppose it has yet 
occurred to that Englishman that the brook 
could not be over the fellow's head, and that 
if it was not he could not very well scoop 
water. 

One of Buffalo Bill's stories I will venture to 
tell, because he gave it as an illustration of how 
bad some plays could be ; the listeners were 
all dramatic artists themselves. It was con- 
cerning the time when he was an actor with 
Texas Jack in a play by Ned Buntline, — a play 
which a great many Americans have seen and 
laughed over. Buntline was very proud of 
this play, but one night when he chanced to be 
" off " the stage Bill arranged with the manager 
to reverse the order of proceedings, and begin 
with the fourth act, then play the third, and 
then the second, finishing up with the first act. 
Buntline, who was to come on in the last act, 
was at the front of the house keeping an eye 
on the doorkeeper, apparently, and he did not 
come in until near the end of the act, and was 
horrified to find that they were playing the 
fourth act first. He ran to the back of the 
stage and was utterly dazed for a minute or 
two ; then he began to get off some vocal fire- 



120 The People I've Smiled With: 

works. He knew that he was sober, and after 
a Httle examination satisfied himself he was 
sane, so he demanded an explanation. " Well," 
said Bill, "we have shifted the acts; it got 
monotonous playing in the regular way all the 
time." " But," exclaimed Buntline, " confound 
you, you will ruin everything ! " " Oh, non- 
sense ! " said Bill, " the audience will never 
know the difference." And I don't believe 
they ever did. 

Buck Taylor, one of Bill's Wild West Com- 
pany, was immensely popular over in England, 
and Bill told a story about him apropos of the 
American fondness for pie. Buck is very fond 
of pie. Bill took Buck to breakfast with him 
one morning in Chicago. They were at one 
of the best hotels in the city, and Buck, after 
eating his breakfast, said to the waiter, "Now, 
bring me some pie." The waiter was a girl, 
and she almost shook the beautiful crimps off 
her forehead as she tossed her head and replied 
contemptuously, " We don't have pie for break- 
fast." "Oh, is that so?" said Buck; "Well, 
when do you have it?" "At dinner, sir." 
"Well, when is dinner? " "Twelve o'clock, sir." 
"All right," said he, " I guess I'll stay here and 
wait for it." And there at that table sat Buck 
Taylor, solitary and alone, from the time that 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 121 

the breakfast dishes were cleared away until 
dinner was served. After Bill told this story 
Buck Taylor never again lacked pie for break- 
fast, luncheon, dinner, and afternoon lunch, 
supper or midnight meal, so long as he was in 
England. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

My Success Abroad. — No Secret about it. — Never 
Made Fun of the English. — Nor Forced Myself upon 
Them. — Interested Myself in my Friends. — No 
"Effete" Nonsense. — Did not "Toady." — No Fa- 
vours Demanded. — Drank Nothing Stronger than 
Water. — When I Admired Anything I Said so. — Put 
on No " Airs." 

Ever since the first time I came back from 
London and began to talk about people I had 
met and good times I had had — I don't sup- 
pose any fellow can help talking that way, — 
people have asked me how on earth it all hap- 
pened, and they have looked at me curiously 
as if they were trying to discover the secret 
of it. 

There is no secret at all about it in any way, 
shape, or manner, unless it is I went there de- 
termined to be jolly under all circumstances 
and I lived up to my resolution. I discovered 
that any one that will do the same will have a 
good time wherever he goes. Everybody 
likes to see a man smile, take things pleasantly, 
make the best of things, and I have been in 

122 



Recollectio7is of a Merry Little Life. ^^3 

training for that sort of life for a great many 
years, as I have already intimated in my open- 
ing chapter. 

Perhaps one reason that I got along very 
well was that I never made fun of English 
peculiarities, and I took great pains not always 
to be telling how much better we did things 
in America than they do over there. English 
people are sensitive about that sort of thing, 
and I can't see how in that respect they differ 
much from Americans. All my readers know 
what they think of Englishmen or Germans or 
Frenchmen who come over here and spend all 
their time in explaining how their country is a 
great deal better than ours. I never got 
down to any of that sort of nonsense. When 
once in a while — sometimes oftener — I noticed 
some things that were done better here than 
there, I kept it to myself, gave a little hurrah 
for the American eagle and the Stars and 
Stripes — also to myself — but I never said any- 
thing about it to my kind entertainers. What- 
ever they learned from me about America they 
drew out of me by persistent questioning. I 
never was backward about talking of my 
own beloved country when any one seemed 
interested in it, but I never " ran " the subject 
on folks. Very early in life I heard the good 



124 The People I've Smiled With t 

old maxim that though you may lead a horse 
to water you can't make him drink, so I never 
was fool enough to try to make English people 
believe that our country was a great deal bet- 
ter than theirs. If I believe it, that's enough 
for me. If I want them to believe it, I wait 
until I get them over here, let them use their 
own eyes and ears and form their own conclu- 
sions, for I know perfectly well they won't 
take any of mine instead. When I met a 
pleasant man or woman in England, I did ex- 
actly what I or any other sensible American 
would do here in similar circumstances : I 
made myself as agreeable as I could in a gen- 
tlemanly way, so as to try to make them 
friendly to me, and to make myself friendly to 
them, and it very seldom failed to work. 

When I chanced to meet any of the dis- 
agreeable people who persisted in abusing 
America, I simply changed the subject, recall- 
ing an old story of a fellow who was going 
along one winter on the frozen lumps on the 
side of the road, and grumbling awfully about 
the unevenness of the turf. A friend who heard 
him growling and swearing said to him : "You 
confounded fool, if you don't like the ground 
that's under your feet why don't you get out 
in the smooth road ? " Welh that's what I tried 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 125 

to do in England. I always tried to get into 
a smooth road when people tried to make- 
things rocky for me. Of course I always en- 
deavored to behave like a gentleman, in all 
circumstances. Some Americans have an idi- 
otic idea that in going abroad they must act in 
a manner different from other people, or they 
won't be recognized for Americans. This sort 
of fool has done our country a great deal more 
harm than he ever can atone for. I tried not 
to be this sort of fool. When you are in 
Rome do as the Romans do. When you are 
in Turkey do as the turkeys do. That was 
my motto over in England. I didn't find it 
hard to live up to it. I didn't find any trouble 
in acting like gentlemen bred and born there, 
and consequently nobody could find any fault 
with me for being " one of those rowdyish 
Americans " — an expression which I have 
heard regarding some fellows who knew a. 
great deal better than to act that way. 

I always tried to interest myself in whatever 
was interesting my entertainers, and to give 
all the sympathy I could in whatever matter 
was being talked about. I never for an in- 
stant imagined myself on exhibition, unless I 
was exhibiting professionally. If men were 
talking politics or horse-racing, or if women 



126 The People I've Smiled With: 

were talking about dresses or babies, I listened 
respectfully, joined in the conversation to the 
best of my ability, and assured them at least 
that they had a good listener. I don't know 
of anything in the world that is more appre- 
ciated b}^ intelligent people than a steady, 
thoroughly interested, can't-wear-him-out sort 
of a listener. English people don't differ a bit 
from Americans in this respect. There are a 
great many of them, very likely, who talk for 
the sake of freeing their own minds — just as I 
do sometimes, and you too, dear reader, I sup- 
pose. 

I didn't go over with any fool notion 
that England and the other nations of 
Europe, were " effete." I had read something to 
that effect in some of our American newspa- 
pers, but fortunately 1 had also read a great 
deal of geography and history, and I knew 
that the countries of Europe were quite as 
wide-awake as we, and although perhaps they 
hadn't as many opportunities, nor such a glo- 
rious climate, nor such beautiful women, nor a 
great many other things which make this the 
most glorioiyS land in the world — for us — they 
nevertheles/ have enough to keep their hands 
and heads and hearts very busy. Instead of 
making up my mind, when I got there, that 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. J27 

they were a great way behind us in every 
respect, I saw and heard a great deal which 
taught me that we could learn a great deal 
from them — just as we, in fact, are learning, as 
any of our artists, authors, inventors, and jour- 
nalists will tell you on the quiet, if you get 
them alone where no other American is within 
hearing. 

Another thing : I never posed for a curiosity, 
as some well-built Americans do ; I never sat 
around looking and acting as if I expected to 
be questioned about myself, or about my 
country. There is too much of this sort of 
thing about some otherwise intelligent Ameri- 
cans who go abroad. They seem to think that 
they come from a terra incognita, and that in 
some way or other they are made different 
from other people, and that everybody is going 
to recognize the difference, look at them, and 
talk to them about it. 

When people tried to make a great deal of 
me, as many were kind enough to do, I did my 
best to return the compliment. English people 
are not different from any others in very soon 
getting tired of a person who is willing to be 
the recipient of all the attention that is going 
around in a drawing-room or at a party. As 
soon as any one seemed to devote himself or 



128 The People I've Smiled With : 

herself especially to me I tried to respond 
at once. If I got a compliment — as occa- 
sionally I did — I tried very quickly to match it 
and " go one better " if possible. English peo- 
ple like that sort of thing. If they didn't they 
couldn't possibly have been the ancestors of 
Americans. When I was a boy, I often saw a 
young rooster, just because he was permitted 
to go into somebody else's yard, immediately 
begin to act as if he were cock of the walk. I 
am not that sort of rooster. I have seen too 
many of that kind chased out and made to 
feel so bad that they weren't fit to go into any 
other place for weeks afterward. 

Although I never was forward in volunteer- 
ing remarks about my own country, I took 
care to avoid the opposite extreme. I never 
toadied. That sort of thing doesn't please the 
English any better than it does us. Really, 
what would any American suppose if an Eng- 
lishman were to come over here and go into 
raptures about everything that he saw, and try 
to unmake himself and act as if he weren't an 
Englishman at all, or, if he were, he was very 
much ashamed of it, and would be an Ameri- 
can just as soon as he possibly could? There 
is no place on the face of the earth where an 
American dude and toady is so heartily de- 



Recollections of a Alary Little Life. 129 

spised as he is in the country whose gentlemen 
he imitates. 

By the way, it isn't the English gentleman 
that the American dude imitates; as Bronson 
Howard makes one of his characters in his com- 
ical play, " The Henrietta," very truthfully 
say : " It isn't the Englishman after all that 
we've been imitating ; it's his valet, don't you 
know?" Much as I went about in England, 
I never saw an English gentleman — no, not one, 
whose manner was at all like that of the young 
American swells who ape the English, or who 
are said to do so, and who certainly can't have 
got their peculiar style by imitating anybody 
else, for they stick to the English language in 
spite of all their monkeying. 

When I got acquainted with people I didn't 
immediately freeze to them as if they were 
long-lost brothers of mine, and act — well, about 
as some people in the United States do after 
they have known a man ten minutes. I never 
introduced a new acquaintance as " my old 
and particular friend," as is the custom in some 
parts of the United States. I have no objec- 
tions to forming a strong friendship quickly 
for a man who is worth it. In some parts of 
the world it is absolutely necessary, but over 
in England it isn't the custom. They have 



130 The People I've Smiled With : 

ample leisure there; they can take time to get 
acquainted, and the consequence is they are 
not as badly " let in " by new acquaintances as 
Americans frequently are. It is pretty hard 
for an adventurer to go into English society 
and succeed as well as he frequently does here. 
The very speed with which he works will make 
him an object of suspicion. 

Another thing which I carefully avoided was 
the asking of favours. I had to accept a great 
many, and I did it gratefully, but I never made 
the awful blunder which many people make — 
strangers in a strange land — to imagine that 
their position justifies them in inflicting their 
necessities and personal troubles upon other 
people. It is true that I had no occasion, 
financial or otherwise, to impose myself upon 
the good-hearted natives of the British Isle; 
but, suppose I had, I should have been far 
more careful about doing it than I would in 
any place at home in the United States. A 
good many Americans fail to observe this rule. 
They lay all their troubles and mistakes and 
worries to the country, and they seem to want 
to take it out of the natives — even out of those 
who have been most kind to them and are 
most thoughtful of their comforts. The class 
of travellers known as "globe-trotters" have 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 131 

done the reputation of our people a great deal 
of harm in England, and I determined to do 
something, if only a ver\' little, on the other 
side to take the bad taste out of the mouths of 
some of them. 

When I saw something being done either in 
society or at a club, or in Parliament, or at a din- 
ner, that was quite different from the way that 
we do the same sort of thing in America, I 
didn't put on a silly smile and remark, " How 
funny ! " as a great many other Americans have 
been known to do in England. If an English- 
man says that sort of thing here, it makes 
the natives feel very hot under the collar, and 
I never forgot that Englishmen and Americans 
are made of very much the same blood and 
muscle and have about the same sort of tem- 
pers. 

Another thing I may say by way of both 
warning and encouragement to Americans ; and 
that is, that all the while I was in England 
I drank nothing stronger than water. It saved 
me a great deal of trouble. Much liquor is 
drunk in England ; the natives can stand it ; 
the air isn't exactly like ours ; it isn't as exhil- 
arating, and people can stand more stimulants 
without feeling uncomfortable : but you have 
to get thoroughly acclimated there before you 



132 The People I've Smiled With : 

can do it. I don't know what is the period of 
acclimatization, but from the condition of some 
Americans I have seen over there I should say 
it wasn't safe to drink a drop in less than forty 
years after arrival. Even then it isn't quite as 
safe as letting it alone. Some Americans drink 
freely because they think the natives would be 
offended if they didn't, but there isn't any such 
backwoods idea of manners among the Eng- 
lish people. No fellow draws a pistol on you 
if you refuse to take a brandy-and-soda with 
him. Nobody feels you are not a gentleman 
if you decline the wine when it's passed to you 
at dinner. The American who wants to keep 
his eyes and ears open, and have a real good 
time in England, had better sign the pledge 
before he starts. If he must be a drinking man 
most of the time at home, he will have the con- 
solation that his abstinence for two or three 
months will insure him a good drunken time 
when he comes back; he wouldn't take a hun- 
dred dollars for his thirsty, as the soldier said 
on coming in from a long trip on the plains 
where he hadn't even Avater to drink. 

One rule I made I strictly adhered to all the 
time I was in England, and that was, when I 
saw anything pleasant, or anything that in- 
terested me very much, or anything which I 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 133 

greatly admired, to talk about it. The English 
like that sort of thing, and if any one knows 
an American who doesn't, I should like him to 
introduce me to the fellow and let me study 
him as a curiosity. It is a supposition that 
only people of new countries are sensitive 
about their own land and their own customs, 
but it is a great mistake. The English are just 
as sensitive as we, just as proud of their own 
institutions, just as anxious that other people 
should like them, and while they may not force 
them upon you they are immensely delighted 
if you begin the subject and show that you 
have seen and appreciate them. It isn't at 
all a hard thing to do, for between art and 
science and politics and the ordinary busi- 
ness and social life of the people, there is an 
immense deal to be seen and admired by any 
American who has a clear head and an unpreju- 
diced heart. I wouldn't trade America for 
England if all the other foreign countries were 
thrown in to boot, including the diamond fields 
of South Africa for my own special benefit ; 
but I shall never forget what I saw there that 
was worthy of admiration, and I shall never 
cease talking to English people about it. It 
amuses them, and it does me a great deal of good 
to get off my opinions on the subject. It is 



134 The People I've Smiled With: 

very pleasant to be able to talk anything to 
people whom you know are going to agree thor- 
oughly with just what you say, and you may 
count upon the Englishman doing that, when 
you talk about his country, just as thoroughly 
as if he were a Yankee talking about Yankee- 
land. 

All that I have said above may seem very 
little by way of explanation of the very kind 
reception I met everywhere in England, and of 
the manner in which I succeeded in enjoying 
myself. Nevertheless, it will seem explanation 
enough to any other American who has been 
well received in England and would like to go 
back there again, and it may serve as warning 
and information to some Americans who still 
intend to go over, and have an erroneous idea 
of the English people and their nature and an 
undue sense of their own importance. 

I know it is very hard for an American not 
to feel that he is the finest fellow in the world. 
We have done so much in this country, made 
so many successes with greater rapidity than 
any other people on the earth, that a lot of our 
folks, otherwise very good fellows, seem of the 
impression that they are superior beings, and 
that they must act accordingly, and expect 
every one else to acknowledge it. All I have to 



Recollections of a 3 ferry Little Life. ^35 

say to such fellows is, Don't go abroad until you 
get that nonsense out of your head. You won't 
make any friends, and you will lay up a new 
stock of enemies. Not only that, you will 
prejudice a lot of good people on the other 
side against a lot of good people on this side, 
who yet may be waiting to go over. Don't try 
to be bigger than yourself. When you want to 
crow, do it from your own perch ; if you can't 
hold your tongue when you are on other fel- 
lows', don't go there. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Answers to Correspondents. — My Recitations Abroad. 
— The Renovation and Ornamentation of the Chest- 
nut. — Mark Twain on Chestnuts. — How I Handled 
Them. — Punch Explains for Me. — Devisk Something 
New.— The English Like Puns. — An Historic Speci- 
men. — Respect other Artists. — The Landlord and 
THE Dog. — An Irish Toast. — Taking Bits of American 
Hu.MOUR. — Too Much Advice. 

A NUMBER of good fellows who want to go 
abroad, to fill their own pockets while filling 
the English countenance with smiles, have 
asked me personally or by letter to tell them 
what I did over there, and how I did it. 

I've responded to the best of my ability ; 
there's no hog about me, as the Hebrew said 
when he threw away a ham because he thought 
the thunder-storm was heaven's protest against 
his owning forbidden property. To spare my 
feeble pen, however, and lessen the duties of 
postal clerks and letter-carriers, I'm going to 
jot down right here as much about my working 
method abroad as I can conveniently recall. 

As I never in m}' life took a lesson in elocu- 
136 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^37 

tion, I sat down hard on my personal tastes 
and didn't spout a single line of Shakespeare. 
I talk Shakespeare to myself sometimes ; — 
of all the men who are on the other side of the 
river, William of Avon is one of my best 
friends, but I don't run him on other people. 
Neither did I recite Poe's " Raven " abroad ; — 
I'd too often been made ravin' mad about it 
here. 

If I had to define my work abroad in the 
fewest possible words — say for the purpose of 
sending it to some one by cable, at my own 
expense, with no opposition wire to keep down 
rates, and I had to borrow the money to pay 
the tolls — I should say that it consisted entirely 
of the renovation and ornamentation of the 
chestnut. In the lexicon of art there's no such 
word as chestnut. I once insisted to Mark 
Twain that, properly speaking, no good stories 
were chestnuts, and Mark drawled out, " I 
agree with you, my boy ; if you're not right 
about it, why do people go to minstrel shows? 
They do go, you know ; nothing can keep 
them away; I go myself, and roar hardest at 
the jokes I was brought up on when I was a 
boy." 

I've intimated that I put my selected chest- 
nuts through a course of renovation and orna- 



138 The People I've Smiled With : 

ment. How did I do it? Well, I can hardly 
explain ; but I gave them the benefit of every 
gesture, facial change, and tone of voice within 
my command. Punch explained my method, 
perhaps, in a few lines, which followed pic- 
tures they printed of me, from a lot of faces 
which I made at the camera of Van der Weyde, 
the famous London photographer : 

WILDER-GRAPHS. 

" Here, smiling, frowning, doubting, laughing, 
Lamenting, thinking, bowing, chaffing, 
All sorts of moods ; the stronger, milder. 
By clever little Marshall Wilder, 
As reproduced in studies made 
By skilful graver Van der Weyde. " 

(I can't let pass the opportunity of ex- 
pressing my admiration for the endurance of 
Mr. Van der Weyde's camera and the artist 
also. I made some awful faces at both, yet 
the camera didn't explode and the genial artist 
did not go to the lunatic asylum.) 

I had no method or programme ready when 
I reached London. I left that to be deter- 
mined after I should have seen and heard 
what the English already were getting. I 
didn't propose to carry coals to Newcastle. 
If an aspirant for histrionic honors chooses to 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 139 

make his d^but in Hamlet, which is every great 
tragedian's masterpiece, let him do it, if he 
has money enough to keep him out of the 
poorhouse and to bury him decently when he 
dies of disappointment. I wasn't in that finan- 
cial condition when I went to England. 

One of the first " entertainers " I saw was 
Mr, Corney Grain, who has been immensely 
popular for years, both in the famous " Ger- 
man-Reed " entertainments and in drawing, 
rooms. Mr. Grain will sit down at a piano 
and with his very good voice parody a famous 
song in perfect taste but with killing effect ; 
his " Lost Gown," adapted from Sullivan's 
" Lost Chord," is worth crossing the ocean to 
hear. I wasn't fool enough to try to be a sec- 
ond Corney Grain. 

George Grossmith is another w^onderfully 
clever entertainer ; nobody admires him more 
than T, so I didn't, venture into his preserves. 
Eric Lewis is another ; he is unapproachable 
in his line, so I didn't approach him — or try to. 

They have minstrels there, too — Moore and 
Burgess have been running for a third of a 
century. I think I know — and sometimes 
" do " — all the minstrel songs and jokes devised 
since Ham gave family entertainments in the 
Ark, but when I saw how well Moore and Bur- 



140 The People I've Smiled With : 

gess suited the London people I dropped 
that method from my mind like an intent 
to kill. 

It didn't take me long to discover that the 
English people enjoyed a pun, especially if it 
was properly dressed. A pun is always in or- 
der over there ; I never saw one in a state docu- 
ment, but I suppose the only reason was that 
the secretaries of state forgot to offer me the 
freedom of their pigeon-holes. The Court 
Journal is one of the most proper and sedate 
journals in England, but here is what it ven- 
tured to " come " on your humble servant : 

"Wild Indians from the United States are 
being imported very fast. They will be one of 
the curiosities of the season. A ' Wild-er ' 
white man has also arrived." 

The Hon. Edward Everett went many years 
ago to the only land where Bostonians aren't 
superior to everybody else. Yet again and again 
I've heard Englishmen tell of the time when, 
at a dinner in London, the artist Story offered 
the toast, " Here's to learning; when Ever-it 
rises it grows," and Everett rose to his feet and 
exclaimed : " I beg to amend ; ' Here's to 
learning ; when ever it rises it grows, but 
never above one Story'' 

I " took my cue " and never forgot it ; what- 



Recollectiotrs of a Merry Little Life. 141 

ever else I did, — sing, gesticulate, orate, or 
make faces, I didn't fail to handle some puns 
for all they were worth. Here are the skele- 
tons of two or three that " took " well: 

Two Englishmen go out to see a game of 
base-ball. One knows all about it, and tried to 
explain to the other who knows nothing of 
the game: "You see that little spot there? 
We call it the home-plate. Those three bags are 
the first and second and third bases. The 
white lines that go down toward the first and 
third bases we call the foul lines ; anythingthat 
goes inside those lines is fair, but if the ball is 
struck out of those lines it is foul." 

Just at that moment the man at the bat hits a 
" liner " and hits the poor man in the back of the 
head. He falls over senseless, and a crowd col- 
lects and the doctor is sent for, and his temples 
are bathed, and finally he opens his eyes very 
slowly and calls his friend, and says, "What was 
it ?" His friend says it was a " foul." " Gra- 
cious ! I thought it was a mule." 

Another base-ball story is told of an old lady 
who went out to see a game of ball. The 
catcher was up close behind the bat, and the 
striker happened to hit him in the eye and 
knocked him senseless. The umpire says, 
" Foul — not out." The old lady said, " What a 



142 The People I've Smiled With,- 

horrible thing that he was hit in the eye, but I 
am glad it is not out." 

Two Irishmen meeting in the street were dis- 
cussing as to who was the first gladiator ; one 
said it was Samson, the other said it was a 
man by the name of John L. Sullivan. An- 
other man said it was a fellow by the name of 
McGinty, and he proved it thus : McGinty and 
his wife went to Ireland, and when they were 
half-way over the water his wife was walking 
on the deck and happened to fall over the side ; 
a whale that chanced to come along swallowed 
her up. McGinty looked over and saw the 
whale eat his wife, and says he, " Well, I'm glad 
he ate her,'' which shows he was the first gladia- 
tor. These may not read like much, but — I 
didn't read them — don't you see? 

When my name appeared on the programme 
with other artists, I took care to consult their 
tastes and preferences. The tenor or soprano 
who is to sing a serious solo does not like to 
appear immediately after the audience has 
laughed at something humourous ; I can under- 
stand the feeling, and I always yielded to it, I 
would change places with anyone and trust my- 
self to "catch on," no matter when I might ap- 
pear. I never had any of the feeling of per- 
formers who thought only about who or what 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. i43 

was to precede and follow them ; they re- 
mind me of Governor Bunn's story of the small 
boy who, when his mother divided an orange 
between him and his brother, ate his brother's 
half first, then his own, and afterward cried be- 
cause there wasn't a third half lying around 
somewhere. 

In making my own selections I took pains to 
exclude anything which might offend. There 
are people and things which may be abused 
from stage or platform in England. I always 
kept in mind the story of the three travellers 
and the dog who arrived at a hotel at about 
the same time. The landlord didn't like dogs, 
but he exclaimed : "Good-morning, gentlemen, 
I'm very glad to see you. What a fine dog ! 
Yours, sir? " (this to one of the party.) " No, 
— not mine," was the reply. " H'm ! " mused 
the proprietor, turning to another man ; 
" yours, I suppose ? " " No," answered the 
man, between the whisks of the ofifice-boy's 
brush. " Indeed ? I should greatly like to own 
such a dog. Of course (this to third traveller) 
he is your property, sir? " " Oh, no ; I never 
saw him before." " Well," said the landlord, 
taking a commanding position in rear of the 
animal, and raising his heavily shod foot to the 
position of "aim," "as I was sa}'ing, I should 



144 The People I've Smiled With : 

like to own such a dog, — for the pleasure (kick) 
of getting rid of him. Get out (kick), you 
worthless cur ! " 

Many as are the quarrels between England 
and Ireland, it isn't safe to abuse the Irish on 
English soil. I never tried it, having had no 
inclinations tb.at way, — too many of my good 
friends are Irishmen, — but I know of other 
men being called to account for it. There are 
many fine Irishmen in London, as the natives 
are free to admit. Sometimes the two races 
have their e}'es on each other, but it is a case 
of " nip and tuck," as American boys say. 
Farjeon, the novelist, expressed the situation 
neatly in his story, at the Greenroom Club 
dinner, of an Irishman's toast to an English- 
man : " Here's to you, as good as you are, and 
here's to me, as bad as I am ; but as good as 
you are and as bad as I am, I'm as good as 
you are, bad as I am." 

The American habit of jumping to unex- 
pected conclusions pleases the English mightily 
when properly illustrated by a story, — for in- 
stance, like Lou Megargee's story of the Louis- 
ville dude who went in the St. James's Hotel, 
New York, and said to the type-writing damsel 
there, " I would like to have you write a letter 
for me, and say that I have gone to Narra- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^45 

gansett Pier." She said, " How do \ou spell 
Narragansett ?" He replied, "Can't you spell 
it ? " " No," she said. " Why," he exclaimed, 
" everj'body in New Yo]k oiij^ht to be able to 
spell Narragansett." " Well," said the girl, 
" if you want me to write it you must spell it 
for me." He said, thoughtfully, " Must I spell 
it?" "Yes." "Well," he said, " then I will 
go to Newport." 

American stories bounding suddenly from 
the sentimental to the practical delight Eng- 
lish people of the better class, — for instance, 
the following, told by Harold Fredericks at the 
Savage Club dinner in London : A darkey who 
was fishing had a little boy about two years old 
at his side, and as he threw the line into the 
water the little chap fell in also. The old 
darkey plunged in and brought out the young- 
ster, squeezed him out, and stood him up to 
dry. A clergyman who came along happened 
to see him, and said, " My man, you have done 
nobly — you are a hero. You saved that boy's 
life." "Well," said the darkey, "I didn't dodat 
to sabe his life; he had de bait in his pocket." 

It has been said humourists must not enjoy 
their own humour, and if they c^joy it they 
must never show it. Artemus Ward never 
showed his appreciation of his own wit, and 



146 The People I've Smiled Wiih. 

therein lay his charm. Speaking from experi- 
ence, I think that a man must always enjoy 
his own joke, if he wishes to make it suc- 
ceed with others. I know that I laugh at the 
stories I tell, not because they are mine, but 
because they are clever sayings of other peo- 
ple, I merely dressing them up in funny style 
to please my audience and prolong their lives. 
If I feel that a story has pathos or fun I am 
always sure the audience will think so too. 

I am afraid, though, that I am offering too 
much advice — that isn't an uncommon fault of 
men to whom others go for information. I 
am warned by a story which Lionel Brough 
told at the dinner of the Greenroom Club. A 
man was advised by his doctor to take better 
care of himself. The doctor said : " You must 
go to bed early, eat more roast beef, drink beef 
tea, go out for a month's rest in some summer 
watering-place, and smoke just one cigar a 
day, or you won't live." The fellow met the 
doctor about a month afterward, and the 
doctor said, "You're looking better. ' "Well," 
he replied, "Doctor, I am feeling better. I 
went to bed early, ate more roast beef, spent a 
month in] the country, and took great care of 
myself, but that one cigar a day nearly killed 
me, for I never smoked before." 



CHAPTER XVI. 

English Respect for the Dramatic Profession. — The 
Lord Mayor's Dramatic Reception. — Wilson Bar- 
rett. — Toole. — One of His Stories. — " Gus " Harris. — 
W. S. Gilbert. — Sir Arthur Sullivan. — Charles 
Wyndham. — Madame Patti. — English Theatres 
Don't Equal Ours. 

In London they make a great deal more of 
the dramatic profession than we do in this 
country, more's the pity for us. Over there 
an artist is an artist, no matter what his par- 
ticular line of ''business" may be, and the 
people are so appreciative that a good actor is 
sure sooner or later to make a great number 
of important, pleasing and valuable acquain- 
tances. Mr. Irving's success has been of great 
service to his profession in general by nerving 
up a number of theatrical people to doing 
their very best, so as to earn recognition from 
the people who make and unmake celebrities. 

I believe no English actor has yet been 
knighted, but the honor of knighthood has been 
conferred upon some musical composers, and 
men who are supposed to speak with authority 

147 



148 The People I've Smiled With: 

are prophesying that at least one distinguished 
actor will shortly have a distinguished handle 
applied to his name. 

I have said a great deal already about Mr. 
Irving — said so much that I fear hasty mention 
of other distinguished actors and actresses may 
all the more lay me open to a charge of invidi- 
ous distinction ; but really, I don't mean it ; I 
have done only what other people do when 
they begin to talk about Irving. I have run 
right along without knowing when and how to 
stop. I don't believe there is a Londoner of 
any consequence who would not do exactly 
the same thing, and I am glad to say that 
prominent actors in other theatres besides the 
Lyceum are quite as fond of Mr. Irving and as 
enthusiastic about him as I. 

When one begins to count up the distin- 
guished actors and actresses of the London 
theatres on his fingers, he finds himself in need 
of two or three extra pairs of hands. Not long 
ago the Lord Ma}-or of London, the Right 
Hon. Sir Reginald Hanson, Bart., gave a 
dramatic lunch at the Mansion House, and was 
kind enough to invite me to meet the represen- 
tative members of the profession. His invita- 
tion read as follows : 

" The Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress re- 



Recollections of a Merry LHtle Life. 149 

quest the honor of the company of Mr. Mar- 
shall P. Wilder to luncheon, on Wednesday, 
June 15th, at 2 o'clock. Mansion House, Lon- 
don. An early reply is desired." 

Of course, I went and enjoyed myself very 
much. Music was supplied by the Coldstream 
Band, and the assemblage was brilliant. Among 
those present were Mr. Henry Irving, Marie 
Roze, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, Charles Wynd- 
ham, Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, Mrs. Charles 
Matthews, Mrs. Beerbohm-Tree, Mrs. John 
Wood, Mrs. F. Harrison, J. L. Toole, Ellen 
Terry, Fred Leslie, Lionel Brough, Miss Nellie 
Farren, Herman Vezin, and that dear old lady, 
Mrs. Keeley, who is greatly beloved by all the 
theatrical people of London : and at least two 
hundred other dramatic artists, among whom 
were all the soubrettes of the London stage — 
how quickly Americans present found them ! — 
Mr. Edmund Yates, editor of the London 
World, Alderman Sir Robert Carden, Bart., 
Colonel Mapleson, whom every American 
knows, Mr. Pinero, the dramatic author, and a 
number of others, including many Americans. 

Of course there was a formal address. Of 
course, also, Mr. Irving delivered it, and it was 
a masterpiece, as all his addresses are. There 
was also a funny speech which had to be made 



150 The People I've Sviiled With: 

by Mr. Toole — not that Toole insists upon 
doing such things, for he is a very modest 
man, but all the other comedians admire him 
so much that no one will say anything for fear 
that Toole will find an excuse for being quiet 
on such occasions. 

After Henry Irving I suppose Wilson Barrett 
is the London actor of whom Americans would 
most like to hear. I don't blame them for it, 
for, besides being a very good actor, he is a 
splendid fellow in every respect. He is a pro- 
nounced Englishman in cast of countenance and 
muscular development, and, as many of my 
American readers will know, he has a very ex- 
pressive eye and a fine, strong face. Although 
he is a kind-hearted fellow and never climbs 
over any one else in his anxiety to get to the 
top, he got there all the same, through his own 
persistent endeavor. Before he appeared on 
the stage himself he was a manager for a star, 
the star being his own wife, who was a Miss 
Heath, and had been reader to the Queen. 
Miss Heath was a very beautiful woman, and 
in marrying her Mr. Barrett simply gave a new 
illustration of the excellence of his judgment 
of human nature. As a manager he was quite 
successful, and finally started out, probably by 
advice of his wife, as an actor, and played sue- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 1 5 i 

cessfully in " The Silver King," " Hoodman 
Blind," and other strong but refined melo- 
dramatic parts. He is known to thousands in 
America, and so are his charming daughters, 
and I know all my readers will be glad to learn 
that he expects to return here before long. 

The first public appearance, properly speak- 
ing, that I made in London was at the benefit 
given to Mr. Wilson Barrett. I was very ner- 
vous about it, too. I had appeared in draw- 
ing-rooms and done very well — so the people 
seemed to think — but that simply made me 
ambitious to score a success in public also. 
When my time came to "go on," I felt more 
uncomfortable than ever, for the gentleman 
who had preceded me in the entertainment 
was agreat success in London, and had become 
a popular favourite. As I went upon the stage 
there was a dead silence, and I felt as if I were 
shrinking at the rate of a foot a minute ; that 
experience could not have lasted five minutes 
without there being considerably less than 
nothing on the stage. Finally one of the 
crowd cried out : " I see him ! " Another fel- 
low shouted, " Where ? " " Why, he's on 
there!" someone said. "Sure enough, there 
he is ! " said another fellow, and then still 
another cried out : " Stand on a chair, sonny!" 



152 The People I've Smiled With: 

All these remarks failed to help me in the 
slightest degree, but they put the audience in 
good humour, and that means a good deal to a 
man who is expected to do anything. Finally 
one man in the audience cried out : " Say, 
there, don't step on him ! " That struck my 
funny-spot, so I began laughing with the audi- 
ence, and, as I have generally discovered else- 
where, when I begin to laugh the other people 
do it too. I leave them to explain why. The 
laughter lasted for about a minute, and as soon 
as silence was restored I stepped forward and 
said : '* I have done what I came for, I have 
made you laugh," and off I went. They called 
me back at once ; they did it four or five times 
more, and enabled me to achieve a grand suc- 
cess. l"hat was my first public appearance in 
London, and, although I enjoyed it in the 
end, I don't care about ever going through the 
beginning of it again. 

A London actor, whom the Americans ought 
to know better, is the famous comedian J. 
L. Toole. I cannot understand those of my 
countrymen who go to see Toole, and then 
come away and say that he isn't much of an 
actor. To my mind he is simply inimitable in 
his line, but he is so much of an artist that it 
takes a little while to comprehend the extent 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 153 

and finish of his style. He is a wonderfully keen- 
featured fellow, quite stout, just a trifle lame, 
wears the conventional eye-glass, and cannot 
talk to you without telling stories. If I could 
remember all the stories that Toole told me, 
I would not have to use a chestnut for a year. 
One in particular I recall about a man who was 
addicted to drink and used to see all sorts of 
things double, sometimes having them doubled 
about a dozen times. Finally he stopped drink- 
ing, and about three years afterward he called 
on a friend who had two boys — twins. The 
resemblance between them was remarkable, 
and as they were dressed alike it was impossi- 
ble for any one but the parents to distinguish 
one from the other. The proud father brought 
the boys down into the parlour, and turning to 
Mr. Toole's friend, said: "Charlie, what do 
you think of this? " Charlie looked at the pair 
a moment, pinched himself, moved about, 
rubbed his eyes, seemed to remember some- 
thing, and finally succeeded in saying, " I 
think it is a very fine boy." He would not own 
that he thought he saw double. 

Mr. Augustus Harris of the Drury Lane 
Theatre, who is called " Gus " by all his friends, 
is an enterprising fellow who has been quite 
successful and deserves everything that he has 



154 The People I've Smiled With. 

obtained. He is celebrated for producing pan- 
tomimes, which are a specialty of some of the 
theatres of London, especially about Christmas 
time, the first performance being always given on 
"boxing night." This night is not, as an Ameri- 
can may suppose, devoted to entertainments of 
the John L. Sullivan order, but is simply the 
night of " Boxing Day," the day after Christmas 
Day, on which every one who has done anything 
for you, or says he has, expects a Christmas 
" box " or gift. Mr. Harris holds the lead in this 
sort of performance and entertainment, and he 
can tell funny stories about boxing-night experi- 
ences at the rate of about one for each person 
who bought a ticket of admission. Where he 
hears all his stories, and how he succeeds in re- 
membering them in addition to all the business 
which he attends to very closely in all its de- 
tails, I do not know, but there are a great many 
things that no fellow can find out. 

The first time I ever saw W. S. Gilbert in 
London was at the house of Lady East, in 
Twickenham. I went there to entertain a 
party of ladies and gentlemen, and saw an 
English home so lovely that I could hardly 
keep my mind on the business in hand. The 
professional assistance I had in entertaining 
the party was from a pianist, but the company 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life, ^55 

was so select that their own faces and manners 
were inspiration enough for any one. I don't 
know how long I talked and smiled and made 
faces, but I could have kept it up all day in 
such society. While I was talking I saw a face 
in the audience which I thought I recognized, 
but was not able to place it. Finally it 
occurred to me that it looked greatly like 
the pictures of W. S. Gilbert, and as I saw that 
he seemed particularly appreciative and very 
much amused, I thought I must be mistaken, 
for I had heard that Gilbert was very sarcastic 
and fastidious and a hard man to please. 

After I got through he came forward and I 
was presented to him, and found that I was 
right — he really was Gilbert. I made haste to 
say to him : " You acted as if you were 
amused, but I didn't imagine that you could 
appreciate my work." " Oh," said he, " but I 
did, very much." " Well," I made bold to 
say, " then you are a very different man from 
what I had imagined. I understood that you 
were a fellow with the dyspepsia, and conse- 
quently never could see anything pleasant, and 
were always gruff." " Oh, well," said he, " I 
am gruff — to some people," and then he spoke 
very nicely about my work and passed on. I 
remarked to myself, " Score one for Wilder." 



156 The People I've Smiled With : 

Sir Arthur Sullivan I met several times in 
London, and each time liked him better than 
before, although he impressed me from the 
first as a most cheerful, courteous, sympathetic 
gentleman. I first met him at the house of 
Mrs. Ronalds, of whom I have already spoken, 
and soon afterward he invited me to his home, 
which I found to be one of the pleasantest 
bachelor apartments imaginable. He has what 
in New York we would call a " f^at," and it 
contains every comfort that a bachelor could 
ask. He is as ingenious in mechanics as he 
is in music ; he even has his own private 
machinery for generating electricity to pro- 
vide light for his apartments. Although he 
is a bachelor, it must not be supposed that he 
has only himself to spend money upon. He 
has a large circle of relatives, and I am told 
that he takes care of them all in as good style 
as if he were a father and they were members 
of his own family. 

I don't know whether Madame Patti should 
be called a Londoner, but she seems so entirel}'' 
at home there, and is so well known and so 
frequently mentioned, that it is impossible to 
write of members of the dramatic profession 
there without recalling her. I have heard 
some unkind things about Madame Patti from 



Recoil ect ions of a Merry Little Life. 157 

people who don't know her, but never a word 
of the kind from any of her acquaintances. I 
have heard that she was a little "close," r.nd 
given to be unkind to others, but I am sure 
this is not so. The peasants who live ab^ut 
her castle in Wales all worship her, and any 
one who has seen even a little of the English 
peasantry will agree with me that they could 
not feel that way toward Patti unless she were 
very liberal at heart and pocket. I have heard 
of numerous instances of her kindnesses. I 
have never seen her in New York without 
clever little Miss Foster near her — a little lady 
who must be rolled about in a chair on account 
of physical infirmities, but Patti cares for her 
as tenderly as if she were her mother, and 
wants her always with her at her hotel, in her 
dressing-room, or behind the scenes. 

Charles Wyndham is an actor and manager 
whom no American in London cares to miss. 
His style and that of his company is pretty 
well known in New York on account of the 
rattling comedies which they gave here several 
years ago, and which still are talked about. 
Americans who then saw Wyndham never 
failed to urge him to come back again soon, 
but I suspect that he is so busy at home that 
he daren't think much about going abroad. 



15^ The People I've Smiled With: 

He is quite as amusing in private life and 
among his acquaintances as he is on the stage, 
and I don't know what more could be said of 
any one, for I never was able to keep a smile 
off my face when Wyndham came upon the 
stage. 'Tisn't necessary that he should speak 
any lines. The twinkle of his eye and the 
poses that he can take, changing rapidly from 
one to another, are so effective that were he 
to advertise to appear in pantomime, instead of 
spoken comedy, I should go as quickly to hear 
him, and expect to be pleased fully as much. 

In one respect New York is far ahead of 
London, and that is as to theatres. Mr. 
Irving's Lyceum is a handsome and finely ap- 
pointed building, and so is Charles Wyndham's 
Criterion Theatre, but the other houses are not 
equal to ours either in the appearance of the au- 
ditorium or the setting of the stage ; nor do they 
pay as close and careful attention to dress on 
the stage as we. A great deal of their scenery 
would be pronounced too shabby for anything 
if displayed in any of our first-class houses. 
There is nothing like getting used to a thing, 
though, as the old woman said when she kissed 
her cow, and an American soon ceases to make 
comparison when an English company gets on 
the stage and fairly at work. 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 159 

The oddest thing to anybody from this side 
of the water is to pay a large price^ — almost 
twice the American rate — for a seat in the 
stalls, as they are called, and find one's self 
separated by only a thin railing from the pit, 
where the seats cost only about twenty-five 
cents. The pit of the English theatre is what 
the top gallery is here ; the gods sit there, and 
a most amusing lot they are as regards attire 
and manners. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Beautiful Paris. — French as I act it. — In Search op 
Napoleon's Tomb. — Ordering a Bath. — Restaurant 
French. — Legal, but Frenchy. — The Champs Elys£es. 
French Girls not as Pretty as Ours. — Clean 
Streets. — .\ War Story to the Point.— Some of the 
Sights.— A Vanderbilt Incident. 

When an American who speaks no lan- 
guage but his own goes to Paris for the 
first time, and tries to make his way around 
alone, he is the most pitiable object on the 
face of the earth, not excepting an office-seeker 
at Washington. When I landed there I could 
not speak a word of French. I knew that 
before I went. My entire knowledge of French 
had been obtained from the bill of fare at Del- 
monico's, to which the English side of the same 
bill served the purpose of an interlinear trans- 
lation, yet I was confident that I could make 
my way about by the use of my mimetic 
powers. Note what happened. 

The first place I wanted to see was the tomb 
of Napoleon. I had never been a soldier; but 
he had been a very small man, so I had some 
1 60 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. i6i 

sympathy with him. I went to the American 
Exchange, hoping to be started right, and told 
a man there what I wanted. He said: "All 
right ; just take that 'bus out there." So I 
jumped upon the bus, not waiting for it to 
stop, and the driver shouted at me: "ComplHf 
Couiplet! " I rolled the word over in my head 
several times and then tried to swallow it, but 
in no way could I possibly assimilate it with 
anything I had ever heard before. After ma- 
ture deliberation I made up my mind that he 
meant that I could either go on top or stay 
inside. How two words exactly alike could 
mean so much I didn't know, but I was willing 
to admit- anything for a language which I had 
been told was unusually comprehensive. I 
supposed he saw I was lame, and didn't care to 
push me off the step, so I remained there, al- 
though it was against the law, as I discovered 
afterward, the stage being full — which was 
what he meant by saying ''Couiplet ! " Then 
I looked up cheerfully and confidentially to the 
conductor and said : " I want to go to the tomb 
of Napoleon." He shook his head mournfully, 
but I was not going to be fooled in that way, 
so I said: "■Hotel des Invalides.'" He didn't 
seem to understand that, either, so I threw my 
head on one side and placed my hand under it, 



i62 The People I've Smiled With : 

trying to imitate a person who was very ill. 
But that did not suggest " invalids " to him at 
all. Then I said again, " I want to see the 
tomb of Napoleon," and I tried different ges- 
tures by taking my cane and commencing to 
dig an imaginary grave in the middle of the 
'bus floor. I kept at it until I buried Napo- 
leon, as it were, and threw back all the dirt 
upon him, to the great amazement of the other 
passengers. Finally one man, who had been 
very red in the face and had stuffed his hand- 
kerchief in his mouth until he was in danger 
of choking to death, coughed and exclaimed : 
" I'll tell him what you want, if you like." 
" Great Scott ! " said I, "you don't mean to 
tell me that you speak English, and have heard 
me struggling with this conductor so long with- 
out helping me?" But the fellow shamelessly 
said that when such fun as that was going on 
he was going to enjoy it for all it was worth, 
no matter if it killed the other fellow. Fi- 
nally, however, he told the driver in French 
what I wanted, and I succeeded in reaching 
the tomb of Napoleon. I wish the great la- 
mented could have noted my efforts to get 
there — he would know how much I thought 
of him. 

My experience reminded me of a story 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. io3 

which I afterward heard Chauncey Depew 
tell regarding a man who went to Paris 
and wanted a bath. He only knew one word 
of French and that was '' gar^o?i "; but he 
began bravely " Gargon, bring up " — and then 
he described, as well as he could with his 
hands and arms, a bath-tub, and ejaculated 
" Sh — sh — sh," imitating to the best of his 
ability the hissing noise of water passing from 
the faucet into the tub. The waiter smiled, 
shook his head intelligently, went downstairs, 
and brought up — what do you suppose? 
Why, a bottle of brandy and soda. " Well," 
said the man who wanted a bath, " I guess 
you know better what I want than I do myself." 
He was not as badly off, though, as that 
other American who went over there, and, 
although his wife advised him not to go on the 
street without an interpreter, he made up his 
mind one day when he was hungry and saw an 
attractive looking restaurant that he could suc- 
ceed in getting a good meal without speaking 
any French. He was a methodical fellow, so 
he picked up the bill of fare in a business-like 
way, glanced at it carelessly, and pointed at the 
very first item. The waiter disappeared and 
quickly came back with some excellent soup. 
" I'll tell my wife about this when I reach the 



164 The People I've Smiled With : 

hotel," said the fellow, smiling to himself as he 
emptied the plate. Then he pointed to the 
second item. Quickly the waiter filled the 
order ; it was another plate of soup, of a dif- 
ferent kind, but the man was pretty hungry ; 
soup went to the spot that day with him, so 
he didn't object to two plates. Then he 
skipped one item and pointed to the fourth on 
the list. Again the waiter comprehended and 
brought him — another plate of soup. By this 
time people at the surrounding tables were 
looking at him in a manner so inquisitive, in 
spite of traditional French politeness, that the 
fellow became confused, and to avoid eating 
any more soup he got as far away from the 
head of the list as he possibly could, and 
pointed at the very last item. The waiter 
swallowed a grin, stepped to a neighboring 
table, and reappeared instantly with a glass of 
toothpicks. Then all the surrounding diners 
laughed, the American grew very red in the 
face, and started away with such rapidity that 
he almost forgot to pay his bill. 

By the way, I didn't learn until after I had 
stood on the step of that 'bus for a long while 
during my search for the tomb of Napoleon of 
the double risk which I was running. If I had 
fallen ofT I might have been run over, and, ac- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 165 

cording to peculiarities of the French mind 
and the French law, when you are run over by 
a vehicle in Paris you and not the driver of the 
crushing wheel are the one to be arrested. In 
this country the legal presumption is that a 
man is innocent until he is proved guiUy. In 
France the reverse is the case. This sort of 
thing may be all right over there, but if it 
were tried in New York we would have to 
extend the Tombs so as to make them reach all 
the way to Broadway on one side and the East 
River on the other. 

In Paris one of the first things an American 
asks to see is the Champs Elysees. It is on 
fete days and on Sundays that this famous re- 
sort is to be seen at its best. I don't wonder 
that Americans like to go there. A man with 
leisure can spend it more pleasantly there 
with less financial outlay than anywhere else I 
know of. 

On either side of the avenue there are a 
number of cafe's chantants. You can go in 
for a very small sum, have a seat allotted 
to you according to the price you pay, and 
listen to the entertainment which is going 
on. You may hear a song, or a piano recital, 
or a comic recitation. You never know what 
is coming next, and that is quite an exhilarat- 



1 66 The People I've Smiled With : 

ing sensation, as the fellow said about the bill 
of fare at the cheap boarding house where he 
lived. Very often when the songs in the caf^s 
are popular the audience will join in the chorus. 
This sort of thing makes a fellow feel at home. 
There is also a circus at one end of the Champs 
Elysees, at which several performances are 
given every day, and the whole thing is very 
gay and lively. 

The French are a very tid}^ people and 
always dress neatly and nicely ; the women 
have a great deal of chic, no matter how 
poor they may be. But they are not as 
good looking as the women of our own 
country. 

You can stand on any New York street be- 
tween seven and eight o'clock in the morning, 
when the masses are going to work, and see 
more pretty girls in an hour than you can see 
in Paris in a month. Nevertheless Americans 
are such appreciative fellows, and so anxious 
to enjoy everything that is going on in the 
world, that a number of them rave over the 
beauty of French women. 

Perhaps I am no judge, but the first time I 
meet a Frenchman who seems fond of the fair 
sex I'll take all the national conceit out of him 
if I can only manage to catch him alone in 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 167 

New York for a couple of hours just after 
breakfast or just before supper. 

In one respect Paris leaves New York en- 
tirely out of sight. The streets are well paved 
and very clean. They are as far ahead of the 
streets of New York as a macadamized road is 
ahead of a Western wagon-path — as much bet- 
ter as a Delmonico luncheon is than a piece of 
dusty slab-pie purchased at a corner stand on 
South Street. The work of cleaning and water- 
ing a street is allotted, in very small sections, 
to individuals. Each man has a block or two 
to care for, and he will do his work entirely 
regardless of the weather or what may be going 
on around him. 

Mr. John Russell Young, late United States 
Minister to China, and now of the staff of Mr. 
Bennett's London edition of the New York 
Herald, tells a good story of a street cleaner 
during the troublous times in Paris at the 
period of the Franco-Prussian war. Among 
their other playful ebullitions of Gallic temper, 
the populace pulled down the Column Ven- 
dome. It was a big contract, but they were 
quite equal to it. The unencumbered area 
around it was very great, and they had rigged 
numerous ropes, each of which was manned by 
hundreds of men. Those who could not haul 



1 68 The People I've Smiled With: 

at the ropes were assisting to the best of their 
ability by howling — and when a French mob 
does howl it leaves the cries of the associated 
newsboys entirely in the shade. There were 
probably fifty thousand people within view of 
the fated column, and Mr. Young stood with 
our minister, Mr. Washburne, and two or three 
other Americans, looking on and studying 
French nature, when suddenly they were ap- 
proached by an old man with a sprinkler and a 
broom, who said to them, " Circiilcz, circules. 
Messieurs, s" it voiis plait ; circules.'" Within 
two or three moments the column came down, 
making an amount of dirt and debris that 
could not have been cleared away by the New 
York Street Cleaning Department in five 
thousand years ; the old fellow saw in advance 
what was about to happen, but he had been 
paid to sprinkle and sweep that street ; that 
was about his hour to operate just about the 
place where those gentlemen were standing, 
and he did his work faithfully, regardless of 
what was to come after. 

The omnibus service of Paris is something 
like that of London, each 'bus having a driver 
in front and a conductor behind. If the Paris 
people were obliged to pay their own fares, as 
a hundred thousand or more New Yorkers do 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 169 

every day on the bob-tail cars, there would be 
an insurrection compared with which any of 
the historical French revolutions would be 
mere trifles. The omnibuses never run over 
anybody, as some of our street-cars do. Under 
the driver's foot is a rubber ball containing a 
little whistle, and by pressing this with his foot 
he can warn any one in front. Although each 
'bus has three horses, no conductor is allowed 
to admit more persons than can be comfort- 
ably seated on top and inside. As soon as the 
vehicle is full to its legal limit the word '■^ Coni- 
plet " — oh, that word ! is displayed in large let- 
ters on the side. This excludes any more peo- 
ple. I am bound to say I should like to see the 
same rule in force on the surface and elevated 
railroads in New York City, but if the happy 
time ever comes I shall prefer not to be the 
holder of railway stock. 

It used to be the fashion when distinguished 
visitors came to New York to take them first 
to see the small-pox hospital. The Parisians 
have advanced a step on this ; they take you 
to look at their sewers, which are very large and 
well lighted. It is reported that their size is 
due to the idea of some king of France who 
thought it would be a capital thing to have 
the sewers so large that soldiers could move 
underground from one part of the city to 



I70 The People I've Smiled WiVi : 

another without attracting the attention of 
the populace. Passes can be obtained at the 
American Legation to go through these sewers 
and inspect them in company with a guide. 
The idea may not be pleasant at first thought, 
but after some experience in them I am obliged 
to admit that they don't smell any worse than 
some of the gutters above ground in the city 
of New York. 

One of the things that don't make you feel 
as much at home in Paris as you might is the 
information that as soon as you arrive the 
police take pains to obtain a full description of 
you. I notice they took mine, and I was after- 
ward curious to see how it would look in 
French, but I was not very inquisitive about 
it at the Bureau, for fear that I might be de- 
tained. Every hotel proprietor is obliged to 
notify the police of the arrival of new guests 
and give a full description of them. I'd give 
a good deal to see such a list filled out in New 
York by some of our enterprising hotel clerks, 
but I am afraid it would result in considerable 
changing of hotels by a certain portion of the 
travelling populace. 

Another of the popular sights of Paris is the 
Morgue ; you shouldn't go there just after 
eating your dinner, and I wouldn't advise a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 171 

fellow to take a peep before breakfast either. 
You are taken down a side street, and you look 
through six glass windows to the marble slabs 
where the bodies of the unfortunates are laid. 
I have no doubt the spectacle might be enjoy- 
able to students from a medical college, but I 
am not that sort of student, so I went there 
only once. There have been some touching 
and dramatic stories written with the Morgue 
as ostensible inspiration, but I have a strong 
suspicion that imagination had more to do 
with them. I cannot understand the fellow 
who could look through those windows more 
than a moment or two without going away and 
being willing to give up almost anything to 
forget forever what he had been seeing. 

There are a great many soldiers in Paris ; 
likewise a great many priests. The soldiers 
are the more admired of the two, but the 
priests are the more respected. Every one 
takes off his hat to a priest whether he knows 
him or not ; the foreigners quickly learn to 
follow the native example. You know the 
clergy by sight in Paris at once, which is more 
than you can say about them in New York. 
You can suspect almost any man of being a 
minister here, if his dress corresponds at all 
with your idea of clerical garb. I heard once 



172 The People I've Smiled Wilh. 

of old Commodore Vanderbilt riding up town 
in a horse-car in which were two men discussing 
reh'gion. Both were about half drunk — a con- 
dition in which a certain class of men always 
are possessed to talk about religion or some- 
thing equally beyond their comprehension. 
They disputed furiously for a wliile, and finally 
one of them, noticing the Commodore's clear- 
cut features, clerical side-whiskers, closely but- 
toned coat, and white tie, said, " I'll tell you 
what I'll do; I'll leave the question to the 
minister over there in the corner," " Agreed," 
said his friend, and walked over and a?ked the 
Commodore whether he supposed that a man 
who didn't believe in infant baptism could be 
saved. The old man, seeing the condition in 
which both men were, looked up pleasantly 
and mildly remarked, " I hope so," upon 
which the champion of damnation looked very 
crestfallen, and muttered to his friend, "I'll 
bet the old cock is a Universalist." 

I could say a great many pleasant things 
about Paris, but I propose to be modest enough 
to remember that a number of my readers know 
the city far better than I ; so I will close by 
saying the very best thing I can about it, which 
is that it resembles New York more than any 
other city I ever visited. If that doesn't please 
Paris, Paris is hard to please. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Americans Ahead of the World. — Some New Yorkers. 
— Cornelius Vanderbilt. — He Sent Me Around. — So 
Did Peter Cooper. — A Thompson Street Affair. — 
Chauncey Depew. — That Way of His. — Bob Inger- 
soLL. — His Perfect Home. — Religion and Philos- 
ophy. — Tom Ochiltree. — He Imitated Washington. 

It begins to occur to me that I have de- 
voted a great deal of my space to people and 
incidents abroad, but I insist that it isn't my 
fault. When my friends in New York and 
elsewhere in this country meet me they don't 
ask me much about what is going on at the 
metropolis, but at once say, "Well, Marsh, 
when were you on the other side last ? Whom 
did you see? Where did you go? How is 
so-and-so ? " etc. ; so a great deal of the fore- 
going is the result of the questioning that I 
am oftenest subjected to. 

I wish to remark, however, in general terms, 
that there is no place like home, and by way 
of specification I wish to say that there are no 
better fellows anywhere on the face of the 
earth than in the city of New York. I have 
173 



174 The People I've Smiled With: 

written a great deal about distinguished per- 
sons abroad and their many admirable qualities, 
but there are just as man}' at home, and my 
onh' regret in saying anything about them is 
that I cannot say all I like. 

There are some men, however, regarding 
whom I must say a little if only from a sense 
of duty. Among those in New York who are 
noted for their Vv^ealth, business enterprise, and 
general prominence are many who are quite as 
enterprising and thoughtful regarding the com- 
fort and prosperity of persons Avho have no 
legal claim upon their attention or pockets. 
One of these is Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, who 
has paid me a great deal of money to give en- 
tertainments for charitable purposes, or more 
properly speaking to give entertainments to 
persons who were unable otherwise to obtain 
them. He has sent me to hospitals, insane 
asylums, prisons, newsboys' lodging-houses, 
and other places to cheer up the unfortunate 
and poor and ailing to the best of my ability. 
Whenever Mr. Vanderbilt sent me anywhere 
it was with the understanding that I should 
say nothing about it, and particularly that I 
should not mention it to any newspaper men, 
as he didn't care to have his benevolences 
made public. I trust he will forgive me for 



Recollectwns of a Mej-ry Little Life. ^75 

this one first and only mention. It is due to 
him that the public, which knows so much of 
him as a millionnaire and a business man, should 
understand also that he has a great warm heart 
which he knows how to use for the benefit of 
others. 

Another rich man of the same quality of 
goodness was Mr. Peter Cooper, who during 
the later years of his life sent me about a great 
deal to amuse some classes of people of whose 
existence, even, most other people seemed 
ignorant. Mr. Cooper appeared to think that 
amusement was one of the prime necessities of 
life. Sensible man ! He wanted it to be en- 
tirely proper and innocent, but the more amus- 
ing the better. He sent me to some very odd 
places. One was a house in Thompson Street 
where a lot of poor colored people used to 
gather, I think for the purpose of receiving 
charities doled out under Mr. Cooper's direc- 
tion. I do not believe I ever found a more 
appreciative audience anywhere than at that 
place in Thompson Street. When I told these 
people a laughing story they would laugh to 
such an extent that when they all got started 
together it was almost impossible to stop them 
so that I could go on with the show. I really 
became anxious, for fear I would not be al- 



176 The People I've Smiled With: 

lowed to earn the money which Mr. Cooper 
was going to pay me. On one occasion down 
there I mimicked a young man who is supposed 
to have an india rubber face and dance a jig 
with his mouth. I had a pianist who under- 
stood this performance and played a lively air 
for me while I kept time with my lips and face 
as nearly as I could. 

Well, as often happens in performances of 
that kind, a number of the audience began un- 
consciously to imitate me with their faces. 
One of them, who had a very large mouth, 
succeeded to such an extent that he drew his 
jaw so far behind his ear that I didn't know 
but what the ends were going to meet behind 
his neck and make a permanent collar for him, 
and he did it so fast that he made me laugh 
until I had to stop my performance. That 
started the whole crowd, and finally I was 
obliged to go off of the platform and down 
stairs to explain to Mr. Cooper how it hap- 
pened. He laughed, too, and forgave me and 
invited the entire audience down to refresh- 
ments, which consisted of as nice a luncheon, 
including ice cream, coffee, etc., as a person 
could find anywhere. I waited until the rooms 
were clear and then went to the refreshment 
room myself, but no sooner did I enter than a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. I77 

very black man shouted in an exciiable way, 
" Take dat man 'way — take him 'way, or we 
can't eat nothin' at all," and they all com- 
menced to laugh again, so that I was compelled 
to leave the room. They didn't seem even to 
be able to look at me without laughing. 

Chauncey Depew is another man who is al- 
ways looking out for other people. This ought 
to be admitted by about half a million Ameri- 
cans to whom he gave free passes before the 
Inter-State Railroad Commission put an end 
to that sort of thing. As every one ought to 
know, Mr. Depew is a very busy man. A man 
cannot be president of a great railroad com- 
pany, look after his own private interests, be a 
bank director, receive hundreds of visitors 
daily, make a speech or two every night at 
dinners or great public occasions, and have 
much time to spare, yet Mr. Depew never 
seems ruffled or put out when some new person 
appears to demand his attention. I have been 
told by more than one railroad man around the 
Grand Central Railroad Depot that he looks 
out for the employes quite as well as for some 
of his more distinguished acquaintances. Some 
men attempt to do all this and partially suc- 
ceed, but they do it at the expense of dear ones 
at home. There is none of that sort of non- 



178 The reople I've Smiled With: 

sense about Depew. If you walk along the 
street with him after his business day at his 
ofifice has closed, he is very likely to stop in 
front of a candy store and say, " Just come in 
here a moment." Then he loads his pockets 
with bonbons or something of the kind to take 
home. If you ask him what he is going to do 
with all these, he will say, " 0!i, these are for 
my boy," 

I have called on Mr. Depew a great many 
times, and though he may have wanted to kick 
me out at one time or other he never showed 
any such sentiment in his face. He would 
always greet me with a pleasant " How are 
you, Marshall ? " and whatever I asked of him 
he was sure to attend to. I suspect the good- 
hearted man has often wondered after I went 
out when I would come to years of discretion 
and stop bothering him about matters which I 
ought to be able to attend to myself, but if he 
has he has never given me a hint of it. I 
have seen him treat a number of other people 
in the same way, but he is quite as competent 
at getting rid of bores as he is at looking after 
his friends. I remember one morning calling 
there when he was very busy; so I sat down 
and amused myself with a newspaper, awaiting 
his convenience. His genial secretary, Mr. 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^79 

Duval, stood at the door trying to guard his 
superior officer from being bothered, but some- 
how one fellow slipped in, and Mr. Depew 
immediately greeted him pleasantly, with 
"Ah, good-morning, sit down." The man 
immediately began to tell the railroad presi- 
dent that on his farm was the one particular 
thing that Mr. Depew needed in the shape of 
stone to ballast his railroad. Now, Mr. Depew 
could have told that man that he already had 
the quality of stone he needed, which was the 
truth, but that would have brought on an argu- 
ment ; so he said : " Oh, yes ; that reminds me 
of a story." Then he got up to tell the story, 
and how splendidly he did it ! I shall never 
forget it. The man rose with him, and as the 
two walked together Mr. Depew edged gently 
toward the door. By this time the story was 
nearly finished ; both were half way out the 
door. When the point came the man laughed 
heartily ; Depew shook hands with him, said 
good-morning, and was back at his desk and hard 
at work again before the fellow got through 
laughing, or realized that he wasn't inside the 
office. Mr. Depew would make a first-class man- 
aging editor for a daily newspaper if he were 
not otherwise engaged, and of course he would 
do honour to our national presidential chair. 



i8o The People I've Smiled With : 

One of the pleasantest fellows to meet in 
New York is Bob Ingersoll. I know his name 
is Robert, and he has a middle initial, which is 
G., but if I called him anything but " Bob," I 
am afraid people might not understand to 
whom I was alluding. There is a great deal of 
religion in Bob, in spite of remarks to the con- 
trary, of which the public have heard a great 
deal. His father was a minister, and the boy 
was baptized in a theatre, and he seems to have 
struck a happy average between the two. 
Whenever you go to his house, you will find 
him very entertaining, and anxious that every- 
body else should be entertained. Whenever I 
am there, and somebody persuades me to get 
up and recite or say something, Mr. Ingersoll 
is so anxious that whatever is done shall be 
thoroughly enjoyed by as many as possible 
that he calls up all his servants and lets them 
stand in the hall to listen. I am not defend- 
ing his theological theories, or lack of any, 
for theology isn't in my line, but I remember 
seeing a great deal in the New Testament 
about the influence of love on a family and 
humanity in general, and I want to say that 
in Ingersoll's house the spirit of love seems to 
prevail over everything. The host is so good- 
natured and considerate and willing to make 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^ " '• 

allowances for others that he won't even lose 
his temper if the dinner chances to come up 
wrong in some way. I was there one day when 
the meat was overdone, or underdone, or some- 
thing of the kind, and the family, instead 
of complaining,laughed about it. They asked 
some questions, for discipline must be preserved 
in a kitchen as much as in an army, but when 
they found out that there had been a political 
parade that day and the cook had gone out 
to see it, so that she had forgotten the meat 
for a while, they all laughed and thought it 
was a good joke. 

Here is a bit of Ingersoll's philosophy, illus- 
trated by himself : There were two turkeys in 
a farmer's yard, one was wise and the other 
foolish. The wise turkey said, " Ah, 
Thanksgiving Day is approaching ; I shall 
starve myself and thereby be able to live 
longer." The foolish turkey said, "No, sir; I 
am going to eat all I can." "All right," said 
the wise turkey, " go ahead." So the foolish 
turkey ate, became fat, and had lots of fun, but 
the wise turkey starved himself and became 
thin. When Thanksgiving Day arrived the 
honest farmer killed both the wise and the 
foolish turkey, and by putting a stone inside 
the wise turkey made him weigh more than 



1 82 The People I've Smiled With; 

the foolish one. Moral : Never give up a 
good thing. 

One day I met Bob in Twenty-third Street, 
when it was raining great guns, and he had on 
anew coat and a very shiny hat. A poor man 
came up to him and asked him for some 
money. The man's coat was not as good as 
the Colonel's, but it was plain to see that it 
was a great deal thinner; so while the poor 
beggar was making his pitiful speech the 
Colonel held an umbrella over him all the 
while, and then gave him a dollar — not with 
a scowl and I-wonder-if-you-are-a-liar sort of a 
look, but Avith pleasant talk and some words of 
encouragement. People may say all they 
please about Colonel Ingersoll's infidelity, but I 
wish a good many people whom I know had 
some of his religion. Religion works differ- 
ently in different natures. Perhaps some, like 
Col, Ingersoll, need very little of it. There 
are others who don't seem able to get enough 
to keep them straight, at least not enough to 
keep them fair to their fellows. 

One of the best men in New York to smile 
with is Senator Evarts. I think I have heard 
somewhere that he can make a very long 
speech when he tries, but when he is telling a 
joke he can get to the point as soon as any one. 



Recollections oj a Merry Little Life. ^^3 

I shall not forget the time that he was at the 
dinner of the " Clover Club " in Philadelphia — 
an institution which it isn't safe for a man to 
visit unless he has all his brains in his head and 
can get them to the tip of his tongue at very- 
short notice. Among the guests on this oc- 
casion were President Cleveland, ex-President 
Hayes, Gov. Foraker of Ohio, Gov. Lee of 
Virginia, Col. Aleck McClure, Gov. Gordon of 
Georgia, Senator Hawley, Col. John McCaull, 
Col. A. Lowden Snowden, and Hon. John F. 
Wise of Virginia. It is the style at the Clover 
Club to guy the speaker — everybody under- 
stands that. This is done only for fun ; never- 
theless it doesn't help a man to deliver a well- 
arranged speech. But Mr. Evarts began 
promptly to guy the Club. Said he : " I am 
sure my distinguished friend. Judge Harlan, 
whom we have just heard, tried to get some 
idea from President Handy (President of the 
Clover Club) to help him out with his speech, 
but that was an awful mistake. I cannot get 
any ideas out of the two gentlemen who sit 
near me (Gov. Gordon and ex-President Hayes), 
because they have none, and, as far as I can 
judge of the Clover Club and its members, 
these gentlemen haven't received any new 
ideas since they came." Here some one inter- 



1 84 The People I've Smiled With: 

rupted with, " I move we elect Evarts on that 
basis." " Gentlemen," retorted the Senator, 
with a gesture of his hand, " I have never been 
seen in this way before. I was going to say a 
very modest thing — which is not very common 
with me — but I won't break the record. I was 
going to say that I have never been here be- 
fore, and, if I had been, you would never have 
invited me again. I understand that in your 
great city you are pre-eminently without con- 
ventionality, but I have heard nothing but con- 
vention for the last week. (It chanced to be 
the week of the Convention of Governors.) 
When I had the honor of delivering the Cen- 
tennial oration of ''j6 " — here a voice shouted 
" 1776" — " a friend said to me, ' Now, Evarts, 
when you spoke on the impeachment trial, you 
spoke four days ; at the Beecher trial you spoke 
eight days ; is there to be any limit whatever 
on this occasion ? ' ' No,' I replied, ' but there 
is a sort of implied understanding that I shall 
get through before the next Centennial.' My 
failure in speaking is that I lack, according to 
my friends, what has been the cause of many 
large railway enterprises failing — I lack ter- 
minal facilities." Then he sat down and no- 
body dared bother him. 

Colonel Tom Ochiltree is a good fellow to 



RccoIIeciions of a Aferry Little Life. 1^5 

meet in New York. Tom has the air of an enter- 
prising business man, but I never saw him in 
such a hurry that he didn't have time to tell a 
story, not even if he was going to take a drink. 
He is proud of being the original of the story 
of the young man who was taken in partner- 
ship with his father, and entrusted with the 
duty of preparing a signboard for the new firm, 
and when the father came down town next day 
and looked over the door he read : 

Thomas P. Ochiltree & Father. 

Tom is said to be gifted with a lively imagi- 
nation, and never to spoil a story for the sake 
of the truth. He explained confidentially once 
to a number of his friends how he came by this 
peculiarity. The occasion was a meeting of 
the Southern Club of New York, all the mem- 
bers of which were born in Southern States. 
The club had been called together to take 
properaction regarding the approaching Wash- 
ington Centenary, and when Tom rose to re- 
spond some one in the audience remarked 
gravely, " Washington never told a lie." If he 
supposed that remark was going to bluff Tom 
Ochiltree he didn't know his man. for the Col- 
onel promptly responded, " That's so, I know 
that cherry tree story, I heard it when I was 



i86 The People I've Smiled With : 

very young. I was so affected by it that I was 
moved to emulation. My father hadn't any 
cherry trees, but he had a nice young apple or- 
chard, and I got a little hatchet and went out 
in the orchard and chopped down the pet tree. 
As soon as father came home he saw what had 
happened. He immediately questioned me, 
and I told him the truth, expecting to be 
treated as little Georgie Washington was. 
Well, my father went to that tree, and he cut 
off a nice long slender section of it, and he used 
it in such a manner for the next five minutes 
that I've hated the very mention of the truth 
ever since." 

Tom is a great fellow for illustrating an ar- 
gument with a story. Abe Lincoln couldn't 
do it better. Here is one which he offered as 
an illustration during one of the endless quar- 
rels over Free Trade and Protection during the 
recent Presidential canvass. A couple of dark- 
ies met down South one day. One little fellow 
said, " Hallo, how do you do ? " " Oh, I'se fust 
rate ; what's you doin' ? " " Oh, I'se been 
workin' for my mammy." " Is you workin' for 
you' mammy ; what is you doin' for you' 
mammy?" "Oh, I'se choppin' wood." 
" What does you' mammy give you for chop- 
pin' wood?" "Oh, she gives me a penny a 



Recollectio7is of a Merry Little Life. 1S7 

day." " And what you gwine to do wid the 
money?" "Oh, mammy's keepin' it forme." 
" Well, what she gwine to do wid it ? " " Oh, 
she's gwine to buy me a new handle for dis axe, 
when I wears out dis one." The reader may 
apply the tlieory according to his own predi- 
lections in politics. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

American Actors. — They are Great Story-Tellers. — 
AuGUSTiN Daly and His Brother. — James Lewis. — In 
re CoQUELiN. — Nat Goodwin. — De Wolf Hopper. — 
Barrett. — Booth. — Chanfrau's Best Story. — Ben 
Maginley. — No Admittance Behind the Scenes. — 
Mark Twain's Experience. — Maurice Barrymore. 

When the gift of smiling and making others 
smile was given out, American actors were not 
behind the door. Almost any one of them is 
a compendium of stories, new and old, and 
when he tells them you enjoy the old about as 
well as the new, for it either has a new point, 
or something else entirely unexpected about 
its anatomy. It is hard to quote distinctive 
individuals and specimens without leaving out 
a hundred times as much as any book would 
hold, but at a venture I herewith offer a few, 
first making my will, and hoping that none of 
the dramatic profession whom I chance to neg- 
lect is mean enough to hit a man smaller than 
himself. 

Some of the best story-telling ever done by 
members of the profession was at the dinner 

i88 



RecoFlecttons of a Merry Little Life. 1S9 

given by Mr. Augustin Daly to Coquelin, the 
distinguished French comedian. By the way, 
Mr. Daly tells a first-class story about his 
brother, the Judge. The two used to indulge 
in amateur theatricals when they were boys. 
Their theatre was the family smoke-house, and 
the performances began when the manager was 
about eight years old. As they grew up, both 
dabbled more and more in theatricals, and 
finally the Judge ventured to play Mark An- 
tony in Julius Caesar, and afterwards asked 
his brother for an opinion of his performance. 
"Well," said Augustin, " I think, Joe, that you 
had better study law." 

One of the liveliest members of Mr. Daly's 
company is James Lewis, who has made fun for 
New Yorkers longer than any other man living, 
and longer than any one upon whom the cur- 
tain has been " rung down," unless perhaps old 
Burton is excepted. Jim, as every one calls 
him, looks like a boy. A friend of mine once 
in front of the house asked me how old he was. 
I said, " Oh, about thirty-five years, I suppose." 
"Thirty-five!" said he; "why, he has been 
hanging around Daly's for twenty years." 
" Well," said Lewis himself, when this story 
was told him, " I have been hanging around 
Daly's for sixteen years, and they have been 



190 The People I've Smiled With: 

the happiest and most prosperous years of my 
life. Mark Twain said to me one night : 'Saj'', 
Lewis, how old are you, any way ?' I said to 
him: 'Mark, I am a full deck,' and he under- 
stood me." 

When Lewis was called upon to speak at the 
Coquelin dinner, he paid the following tribute 
to the distinguished guest: "The last time I 
saw Coquelin," said he, " was in Paris, and on 
that occasion I was * made up ' for the char- 
acter of the professor in ' A Night Off.' 
Coquelin said I looked so much like his old 
tutor that I made him shudder. A friend of 
mine who saw me act in Paris said I reminded 
him of Coquelin — because I was so different. 
After thinking about it for a long while I made 
up my mind that was sarcasm. I have never 
had the pleasure of seeing M. Coquelin on the 
stage, but I have been warned about him. 
Perhaps you don't catch the idea. Well, I'll 
explain. The year I voted for Andrew Jack- 
son I was travelling with a small company 
acting in rural towns. In one village I asked 
the landlord of the local hotel where the 
theatre was. 'Well,' he replied, 'we aint ex- 
actly got no theatre, but there's a buildin' up 
yander where they give performances. It used 
to be the Temperance Hall, but they call it 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 191 

the Grand Opera House now.' I went 'up 
yander,' and found a marble-yard. A man 
was chiseling 'In memory of' on a tomb- 
stone, and I shuddered. ' Where's the Grand 
Opera House?' I asked him. 'Right back of 
the marble-yard,' he replied. ' Where's the 
stage-door?' ' You'll find it just behind the 
third tombstone on your left,' said he. Things 
were beginning to seem solemn, and when I 
got in there, and on the stage, I didn't feel like 
playing comedy. The carpenter was up on a 
ladder fixing a bit of scenery, and I threw a 
ten-penny nail at him to attract his attention. 
He looked down at me over his spectacles, and 
something in my personal appearance seemed 
to strike him, for he asked me : ' Is your name 
Lewis ? ' ' Yes,' I answered. ' Oh, well, I've 
been warned about you.* ' So ? ' I asked won- 
deringly. 'Yes; they told me you was first- 
rate.' Well, I have been warned about Coque- 
lin. I am sorry I don't know more French — 
Vive Coquelin ! " 

Nat Goodwin is another splendid story-teller. 
He is always full of fresh ones. I think he 
must make them up himself, because I never 
heard any of them before I got them from 
him. I owe him a great deal for the new 
'bracers" he has given me, and I feel still 



192 The People I've Smiled With: 

more indebted to him for his not having killed 
me on one special occasion. It was this: I 
reached London about two weeks before he 
did, dined at the Savage Club, and told one of 
Nat's stories, because I knew of course it 
would be fresh. It made an immense hit. 
About two weeks afterward Nat came over. 
He was introduced at the Savage Club. At 
the dinner-table he told what he supposed was 
his newest story. It fell utterly flat, and Nat 
was amazed and disgusted. Chauncey Depew 
had told him that some of the English didn't 
appreciate humour, and he made up his mind 
that must be the trouble ; but one of the mem- 
bers, knowing his discomfiture, said to him : 
" The trouble is, Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Wilder told 
us that story a week or two ago." " Oh, did 
he ? " said Nat. " Well, then, I'll get even with 
him ; I'll give you an imitation of Marsh 
Wilder," and then he told one of my stories 
and made a tremendous hit. 

De Wolf Hopper is another man who can 
put a select crowd in a roar and keep them at 
it until each of them needs to go to a throat- 
doctor. So is Lawrence Barrett. Mr. Booth, 
solemn as he may appear on the stage in trag. 
edy, has an immense amount of fun in him. 
There isn't on the variety stage a man who can 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^93 

better sing a comic song or dance a jig. Chdiu 
frau, who used to be a great character actor, 
and who I hope is making as much fun in 
the other world as he did in this, used to teil 
a story of Booth and Edwin Adams in the 
days when they were both young, aspiring, and 
very poor. They had gone to Australia to 
delight the natives with the legitimate drama, 
but " something intervened to obviate," and 
they found themselves hard up. They couldn't 
walk home on the ties, there not being that 
kind of a route, and they could not exactly 
see their way to a walking tour upon the 
ocean ; so they went into seclusion. Chanfrau 
happened in town, wherever it was, about that 
time, and, walking about one evening, heard 
the cheerful sound of a jig proceeding upward 
from a cellar which seemed also to be a bar- 
room. He dropped down to see what was go- 
ing on, and there he found Booth and Adams 
dancing jigs for drinks. I don't know whether 
either of them ever denied the story. I heart- 
ily hope they didn't, for it was fun to think of it 
when one chanced to see them afterward on 
the stage in the height of their prosperity. 

Old Ben Maginley, who, by the way, was not 
old at all when he died, and whose two hun- 
dred and fifty pounds avoirdupois I trust is now 



194 I'he People I've Smiled With: 

gracing the edge of a fleecy, sunny cloud some- 
where in the celestial ether, was also a great 
story-teller. Ben would stand at the corner of 
the Union Square Hotel on a mild summer 
evening,when one season had concluded and the 
agony of the next had not yet begun, and tell 
stories in an innocent, straightforward, country- 
farmer fashion that convulsed every one about 
him. None of his hearers went to a bar-room 
so long as Ben would continue talking. 

American actors don't differ much in style 
and manner from their professional brethren in 
England, but the ways of American theaters 
behind the scenes differ decidedly from those 
on the other side. The green-rooms and " flies " 
in many London theatres are accessible to 
a select and specially favoured circle, but 
it isn't easy for any visitor to get behind the 
stage of a first-class American theatre. The 
following explanation by Mark Twain of an 
attempted visit to Dal)''s green-room is a fair 
illustration of what may happen to any one at- 
tempting to get into the rear of that house or 
any other prominent New York theatre. He 
said, at the looth-night dinner of " Tiie Taming 
of the Shrew ": " I am glad to be here. This 
is the hardest theatre in New York to get into, 
even at the front door. I never got in with- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 195 

out hard work. I am glad we have got so far in 
at last. Two or three years ago I had an appoirrt 
ment to meet Mr. Daly on the stage of this 
theatre at eight o'clock in the evening. Well, 
I got on a train at Hartford to come to New 
York and keep the appointment. All I had to 
do was to come to the back door of the theatre 
on Sixth Avenue. I did not believe that ; I 
did not believe it could be on Sixth Avenue, 
but that is what Daly's note said — Come to 
that door, walk right in, and keep the appoint- 
ment. It looked very easy. It looked easy 
enough, but I had not much confidence in the 
Sixth Avenue door. Well, I was kind of bored 
on the train, and I bought some newspapers — 
New Haven newspapers — and there was not 
much news in them, so I read the advertise- 
ments. There was one advertisement of a 
bench show. I had heard of bench shows, and 
I often wondered what there was about them 
to interest people. I had seen bench shows, 
lectured to bench shows in fact, but I didn't 
want to advertise them or to brag about them. 
Well, I read on a little and learned that a bench 
show was not a bench show — but dogs, not 
benches at all — only dogs. I began to be in- 
terested, and, as there was nothing else to do, 
I read every bit of that advertisement, and 



196 The People I've Smiled VVilh: 

learned that the biggest thing in this show was 
a St. Bernard dog that weighed one hundred 
and forty-five pounds. Before I got to New 
York, I was so interested in the bench shows, 
that I made up my mind to go to one the first 
chance I got. Down on Sixth Avenue, near 
where that back door might be, I began to take 
things leisurely. I did not like to be in too 
much of a hurry. There was not anything in 
sight that looked like a back door. The near- 
est approach to it was a cigar store, so I went 
in and bought a cigar, not too expensive, but 
it cost enough to pay for any information I 
might get, and leave the dealer a fair profit. 
Well, I did not like to be too abrupt, to make 
the man think me crazy, by asking him if that 
was the way to Daly's Theatre, so I started 
gradually to lead up to the subject, asking him 
first if that was the way to Castle Garden. 
When I got to the real question, and he said 
he would show me the way, I was astonished. 
He sent me through a long hallway, and I found 
myself in a back yard. Then I went through 
a long passage-way and into a little room, and 
there before my eyes was a big St. Bernard dog 
lying on a bench. There was another door 
beyond, and I went there and was met by a 
big, fierce man with a fur cap on and coat off, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 197 

who remarked, " Fhwat do yez want ?" I told 
him I wanted to see Mr. Daly. "Yez can't see 
Mr. Daly this time of night," he responded. I 
urged that I had an appointment with Mr. 
Daly, and gave him my card, which did not 
seem to impress him much. " Yez can't get 
in and yez can't smoke here. Throw away 
that cigar. If yez want to see Mr. Daly, 
yez'll have to be after going to the front door 
and buy a ticket, and then if yez have luck 
and he's around that way yez may see him." 
I was getting discouraged, but I had one re- 
source left that had been of good service in 
similar emergencies. Firmly but kind!)' I told 
him my name was Mark Twain, and I awaited 
results. There were none. He was not fazed 
a bit. "Fhwere's }'our order to see Mr. Daly?" 
he asked. I handed him the note, and he 
examined it intently. " My friend," I re- 
marked, " you can read that better if you hold 
it the other side up "; but he took no notice 
of the suggestion, and finally asked, " Where's 
Mr. Daly's name ?" "There it is," I told him, 
"on the top of the page." "That's all right," 
he said, " that's where he always puts it, but I 
don't see the " W " in his name," and he eyed 
me distrustfully. Finally he asked, " Fhwat do 
}'ez want to see Mr. Daly for?" " Business." 



198 The People I've Smiled With. 

"Business?" "Yes." It was my only hope. 
"Fhwat kind — theatres?" That was too much. 
" No." " What kind of shows, then ? " " Bench 
shows." It was risky, but I was desperate. 
" Bench shows, is it — where ?" The big man's 
face changed, and he began to look interested. 
•* New Haven." " New Haven," is it ? Ah, 
that's going to be a fine show. I'm glad to see 
you. Did you see a big dog in the other 
room?" "Yes." "How much do you think 
that dog weighs ? " " One hundred and forty- 
five pounds." " Look at that, now ! He's a 
good judge of dogs, and no mistake. He 
weighs all of one hundred and thirty-eight. 
Sit down and shmoke, — go on and shmoke your 
cigar, I'll tell Mr. Daly you are here." In a 
few minutes I was on the stage shaking hands 
with Mr. Daly, and the big man standing 
around glowing with satisfaction. " Come 
around in front," said Mr. Daly, " and see the 
performance. I will put you into my own 
box," and as I moved away I heard my honest 
friend mutter, "Well, he desarves it." 

Maurice Barrymore is a splendid fellow to 
smile with ; he always seems good-natured. 
He is of fine birth and education, and would 
have been a clergyman could his parents have 
had things their way ; he would have made one 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life, ^99 

of the curates with whom all girls fall in love. 
He never slumbers or sleeps, unless while his 
eyes are open and he is busy talking and tell- 
ing stories. He has no chestnuts, but any 
story he tells reaches the dignity of a chestnut 
in a very short time, it is repeated so industri- 
ously. 



CHAPTER XX. 

After-dinn€r Speakers. — Englishmen Admire Ours. — 
Tom Waller. — Chauncey Depew. — Wayne McVeagh — 
Moses P. Handy. — The Bald Eagle of Westchester. — 
The Man Who Didn't Kick. — Competitive Lying. — 
Horace Porter. — Bill Nye. — James Whitcojib 
Riley. — Judge Brady. — Judge Davis.— David Dudley 
Field. 

There are a great many clever men in Eng- 
land, — men who are known to the entire world 
as orators — but they can't hold a candle to 
Americans as after-dinner speakers. The Eng- 
lish respect us for our cattle-ranches, horse- 
races, wheat-fields, yacht-building, and many 
other things, but their highest appreciation 
of America is on account of our after-dinner 
speakers. They do not read the American 
newspapers very much as a rule, for which I 
extend to them my sentiments of profound 
commiseration, but whenever anything occurs 
here which calls for a lot of after-dinner 
speeches from prominent men it has a way of 
making itself known and talked about all over 
England. Englishmen never fail to attend 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 201 

any social affair in London at which a number 
of prominent Americans are expected to be 
present. 

Our late Consul-General, Tom Waller of 
Connecticut, was a great favorite there. So 
was Wayne McVeagh, who, as a cabinet officer, 
was as solemn as the back side of a grave-stone. 
Moses P. Handy is another man very popular 
over there for his after-dinner orations; and if 
Jimmy Husted, the " Bald Eagle of West- 
chester," ever cares to change his occupation, 
he can make his fortune in a short time by 
going to England and making speeches. The 
English are simply amazed at the quickness 
and readiness of Americans at speech-making 
and repartee. No Englisman cares to compete 
with one of them at the dinner-table. 

Of course they have all heard of Chauncey 
Depew, and some of his good stories I heard 
over there for the first time. One which was 
repeated to me frequently was as follows: 
'' When I was about fourteen years of age, my 
father lived on an old farm at Poughkeepsie. 
One day, after I had worked very hard at a 
five-acre field of corn, I begged permission and 
money to go to the circus. While I was there 
I saw a spotted coach-dog which took my 
fancy, and, as I had enough money left, I 



202 The People I've Smiled With : 

bought him and took him home. My father, 
who was an old Puritan, and had read of 
Jacob's little game with the sheep of Laban, 
said to me, * Chauncey, I don't want any spot- 
ted dogs on this farm ; they'll drive the cattle 
crazy and spoil the breed ! ' Next day it 
chanced to rain, and I took the dog out into 
the woods to try him on a coon, but to my 
great astonishment the rain washed all the 
spots off of him. I took the dog back to the 
circus man who sold him to me and told him 
that all the spots had washed off. 'Great 
Scott ! ' said the fellow, with an affectation 
of surprise. ' There was an umbrella went 
with that dog to keep him dry. Didn't you 
get it?'" 

The English like the optimistic style of our 
speakers, and were hugely pleased with the 
retort ascribed to a little fellow who had no 
feet and, whom a lot of his neighbors set up in 
business as a newsdealer in Harlem, providing 
him with a barrel in which to sit and hang his 
stumps so that the wind should not strike 
them. One day, when the blizzard was raging 
violently, he went on selling newspapers as 
cheerily as if nothing was occurring. Finally 
a friend came along and said to him : " Hello, 
Charley, how is business?" " Well," said the 



Rt'coUecilons of a Merry Little Life. 203 

little fellow, looking down to the place where 
his feet ought to be, '* I aint kickin'." 

Bret Harte was long one of the famous after- 
dinner speakers in London. I have heard that 
Bret's printed stories are written with great care, 
leisure, and deliberation, but in London he 
always succeeded in saying something entirely 
new and on the spur of the moment. He set 
a whole table laughing once by telling of an 
Irishman who lost his way in a large city and 
was driving up and down in his cart, which was 
drawn by a small mule. The fellow looked so 
woe-begone that some one shouted to him 
from the sidewalk and asked him where he 
was going. " I don't know," said he, " ask 
the mule." 

Another after-dinner story that people do 
not tire of over there was about a German re- 
visiting his native country, who was questioned 
a great deal by one of the native princes. 
Said the prince : " Hans, have you any circus 
riders in America?" "Yes," was the reply, 
" we've got lots of them ; who is your greatest 
rider in Germany ? " " Oh, Hans Wagner ; he 
is the greatest rider you ever saw in your life." 
" Well," said the returned emigrant, " I'll bet 
he aint much to what we've got in America. 
Now, there's Jim Robinson, I've seen him run 



204 The People I've Smiled With: 

along and jump off a horse's back and on 
again four or five times." " Oh, that's noth- 
ing," said the prince, " Hans Wagner does that 
every day for practice." " But I've seen 
Robinson jump on a horse going at full speed 
and stand with one foot on his tail." " Yes, 
but Hans Wagner did that when he was a 
young man the first time he tried." " Well, 
but I've seen Jimmy Robinson run into a ring 
and run twice around with the horse, and then 
jump and land right on the horse's breath." 
"Well, Hans Wagner, he — see here, my man, 
that's a lie; I don't believe that." 

Some of Horace Porter's stories are repeated 
over there with great gusto. One of them was 
carried over from here, having been given after 
the dinner on the looth night of the "Taming 
of the Shrew," at Mr. Daly's Theatre. It was 
a story of Sherman's march to the sea. It 
seems that Sherman used to go out of his w-ay 
to avoid bridges, and was very fond of fords. 
One day the army was to ford a river, but for 
miles before they reached it they waded knee- 
deep in a swamp, and one soldier finally said 
to another, " Bill, I guess we've struck this 
river lengthwise." Porter's story of the man 
w^io was always on time also amused the Eng- 
lish immensely. It seems this fellow kept a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 205 

sort of schedule of his day's proceedings. He 
would arise in the morning at a certain time, 
go to bed at a certain time, eat his meals at a 
certain time, and dress at a certain time, and 
was so methodical that his watch was in his 
hand a greai: deal of the time. One day his 
wife died. At the funeral, as the remains were 
lowered into the grave the bereaved husband 
wiped his weeping eyes, swallowed a sob or 
two, took out his watch, looked at it, and 
murmured : " Just a quarter past two ; got her 
in on time." 

In England they are very fond of repeating 
stories told by Mark Twain, Bill Nye, and 
James Whitcomb Riley, and I don't wonder at 
it, for there are few men who better under- 
stand the art. They don't resemble each 
other much more than my esteemed friends, 
T. De Witt Talmage and Colonel Robert G. 
Ingersoll, but each talks for all he is worth and 
gets there every time. Mark Twain trans- 
gresses all precedents by spinning out a story 
to an immense length, yet every one is sorry 
when he sits down. Bill N)'e gets upon his 
feet so full of what he is going to say that it 
oozes all out over his good-natured face and 
still has considerable overflow for the top of 
his shining bald head. Riley tells his story in 



2o6 The People Vve Smiled With : 

a most leisurely and quiet manner that sug- 
gests a great deal of reserve force, but when 
he gets to the point he does it so sharply and 
skilfully that the audience is astounded for an 
instant, and when they do catch on the ap- 
plause is terrific. He can mix the humorous 
and pathetic more skilfully than any man 
I ever heard. He told me once of a little 
fellow who had a curvature of the spine. He 
made the story intensely pathetic until I began 
to feel for my handkerchief, but when he ex- 
plained how the little chap was as proud of his 
deformity as a colored man would be of a new 
suit of clothes, I nearly exploded. I didn't 
know whether I was crying or laughing. 

Although it isn't to the point of American 
after-dinner speaking, I want to record just 
here a story I have heard about Riley out in 
Union City, Indiana, where he turned up once 
as a painter. The proprietor of the hotel 
there called my attention to the sign overhead 
his door, and said : " Do you see that sign ? " 
"Yes," said I. "Well," said he, " that was 
painted by James Whitcomb Riley, the poet, 
who in those days was called the blind painter 
of Indiana. They called him blind because 
when he went up on a ladder he traced the 
outlines of the letter so very slowly, and filled 



Recollections of a 'Merry Little Life. 207 

them in so carefully, that you hardly could see 
that he was working at all ; yet, all of a sud- 
den, the whole sign was done, and it was the 
best work of the kind in the State of Indi- 
ana ! " Riley tells stories just exactly as he 
painted the sign. 

If the English want to know how well our 
people can tell after-dinner stories, however, 
they ought to come over here and drop into 
some of the New York clubs, and hear Judge 
Brady and Judge Noah Davis and David Dud- 
ley Field, and some other men who to the gen- 
eral public are as solemn as obituary notices. 
When these men do find time for recreation 
and let themselves loose, they do it in magnifi- 
cent style. Once up at the Lambs' Club Judge 
Brady, who was then the shepherd of that pas- 
toral institution, took exception to something 
that was said about the public being unable 
to understand big words. "Any one can un- 
derstand a big word," said he. " Why, a little 
while ago, in front of J. M. Hill's cyclorama 
of the Battle of Gettysburg, two Irishmen 
stopped, and one of them, looking up at the 
round building, asked the other, 'What is 
this ? ' ' This is a cyclorama,' said Pat. * A 
what ? ' asked Mike. ' A cyclorama.' ' Well, 
and what's a cyclorama ? ' ' Don't you know 



2o8 The People I've Smiled With. 

what a cyclorama is?' ' Indade I don't.* 
' Well, cyclorama is dude language for gas- 
house.' 

When, however, you want to hear some of 
the best American speaking at the shortest 
notice, you want to get yourself into a crowd 
of newspaper men. For particulars see next 
chapter. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Newspaper Men are Reliable Smilers. — John Cocker- 
ILL. — General Sherman Explains.— Some of Cocker- 
ill's Yarns. — Amos Cummings.— Some of his Stories. — 
Joe Howard Brings Down the House. — Willie Win- 
ter. — Henry Guy Carleton on Commercial Travel- 
ers. — Bob Morris. — Joe Clarke. — John Reed. — Will 
Starks. — George Williams. — The Press Club. — The 
Fellowcraft. 

Among the men who can always be de- 
pended upon to smile with a man and say the 
best things at the shortest notice, the journal- 
ists of New York City are pre-eminent. It 
takes a great deal of good stuff to make one 
journalist, but after the work is done the re- 
sults are so admirable that the reader would 
not object to spoiling a hundred or so ordi- 
nary beings for the sake of turning out one 
first-class newspaper man. 

The qualifications of a man in a prominent 
position in journalism are so numerous that it 
would be hard to mention and classify them. 
Every American thinks himself able to edit a 
newspaper, and I don't know that many of 
209 



2IO The People I've Smiled With: 

them are mistaken ; but among foreigners I 
cannot recall at this instant more than two who 
would be equal to the demands of the New 
York press were they not otherwise engaged at 
the present time : one is the Pope and the 
other is Bismarck. 

To name all the clever fellows who are sup- 
plying the world with news, yet find time to 
be cheerful with any half-way decent fellow 
who comes along, would take more space than 
the entirety of this book, even if the names 
were set in double columns in directory style. 
Of course they are not all in New York. I 
never yet reached the town that had a news- 
paper of any account without finding at least 
one good fellow of the journalist fraternity, but 
naturally I am best acquainted with those who 
say things through the medium of the press of 
the metropolis. 

Among the crowd is my friend Col. Cock- 
erill. It is astonishing how little the world 
knows about some men whose names are on 
every one's lips. A little while ago I actually 
heard an intelligent American allude to Cocker- 
ill as having gained his rank in the Confederate 
Army. There were plenty of good fellows, I 
have no doubt, in the Confederate Army; in 
fact, I have met a great many of them in 



Recollectiojis of a Merry Little Life. 211 

recent years ; but as for Cockerill, — well, allow 
me to reproduce a story by Gen. Sherman, 
told at the Press Club ; it runs thus, as nearly 
as I can remember the General's words : " If 
you fellows would promise not to sing ' March- 
ing through Georgia ' I'll tell you a little story. 
I came here to the Press Club to-night espe- 
cially to pay my respects to your president, Col. 
Cockerill. I presume most of you don't know 
what it is to stand in the position of a man 
having charge of the lives of one hundred 
thousand men. Fortunately or unfortunately, 
I do. Some years ago, down at the little 
village of Paducah, Ohio, the 17th Ohio Regi- 
men reported to me. Cockerill was in that 
regiment as a drummer boy. His father was 
there too. The boy got his education in Vir- 
ginia, but he was true to the nation. He stood 
heavy fire in those days, and that is what made 
him so staunch a friend. He went ahead, right 
straight along, as he has been doing ever since. 
As the sins of the father go down to the fourth 
generation, as the Bible says, it is a comfort to 
realize that the virtues go down too. His 
father was a splendid man, and his son is a 
chip out of the old block. I know him to be 
a fellow of the right stamp, and I congratulate 
you on having chosen him for your president. 



212 The People I've Smiled With: 

I believe he is about forty )'ears old. I hope 
he will live to be forty more." I guess these 
remarks dispose of the story M'hich a good 
many people were inclined to believe, that the 
Colonel won his rank in the Confederate Army. 

Like all the other smart fellows of the \\orId, 
Cockerill can't hear of anything without being 
reminded of a story ; the last one he told me 
Mas about two Englishmen who had been rich 
but later became so severely reduced in cir- 
cumstances that one became a waiter in a 
shilling restaurant in London and the other 
had became reduced to a shilling and hadn't 
had anything to eat for a da}' or two. Finally, 
when he reached the point where he had either 
to give up his shilling or give up his life, he 
went into a restaurant to get a dinner, and 
found his old comrade there waiting on the 
the table. " Ton my word," said he, " it's very 
hard, old friend, for me to see you here as low 
down as this, — actually a waiter in a shilling 
restaurant." " Yes, old chappie," said the 
other cheerily, " it's pretty hard to be a waiter 
here, I confess, but all the same I've never got 
down so low that I have had to eat my dinner 
here." 

Op.e of Cockerill's stories has gone all over 
the country in print. I have heard many 



EecollecHons of a Merry Little Life. 2 1 3 

stories with double meanings, but I never be- 
fore struck an}' which were as doubly suggest- 
ive as are some of his. 

Another famous story-teller on the New 
York press — he is also a Member of Congress — 
is Amos Cummings. Some one was telling 
about having been mixed up in a discussion 
over abstract principles where hairs were split 
and split until each of the principals lost entire 
sight of the original point he was aiming at. 
It reminded Amos of this story: An Irishman 
walked up to the refreshment stand of a rail- 
way station and said to the young lady, 
" What have you got there ? " " Apples," she 
said. "How much?" "Five cents apiece." 
He took an apple in his hand, looked at 
another plate of fruit, and said : " What's 
these?" "Oranges, sir." "How much are 
they? " " Five cents each." " Same price as 
the apples ? " "Yes." "Would you mind givin' 
me an orange for this apple?" "You are 
quite welcome," says she, " to exchange them. " 
He took the orange and ate it, and was going 
out, when the young woman shouted, " Wont 
you pay for it ? " " Pay for what ? " says Pat. 
" Why, for the orange, to be sure." " Why, I 
"gave you the apple for the orange." " Yes, 
sir, but you haven't paid for the apple." 



214 The People I 've Smiled With : 

" Well, I gave you back the apple, what do 
you want, — the whole earth ? " 

I have heard a great deal about the imagi- 
native faculty in Irishmen, but I never knew it 
better delineated than by Amos Cummings 
when he told of an Irishman who was wheeling 
a heavy barrel up a road and some one said to 
him, " Mike, what have you in that barrel ?" 
" Well, sor," was the reply, " upon my word I 
don't know. One side of it says Rye Whiskey 
and the other's marked Pat Duffy." 

Joe Howard is another famous newspaper 
man in the metropolis. I could scarcely tell to 
what paper he is attached if I tried, — he 
writes for so many. Joe has a dome of 
•thought resembling that of the late lamented 
William Shakespeare, a resemblance to which 
his moustache and goatee tellingly contribute. 
I suppose he is pretty well along in years, as 
he has several married children, but his spirits 
are about eighteen years of age and grow 
younger every moment while he talks. He 
not only can tell a first-rate story, but he can 
turn some other man's story in a direction 
which the original owner never would have 
imagined. One day, over at the Press Club, 
my dear old friend Peter Cooper, of sainted 
memory, was giving the boys some good 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 2:5 

advice. He knew that newspaper men w^orked 
very hard, earned a great deal of money, spent 
it freely,and he wanted to give them a practical 
hint, so he told them that one of the most use- 
ful things in the world to a young man, after 
a good character, was a bank account. Even 
if he contributed to it very slowly he would 
find it a tower of strength and a source of 
comfort. I know that his remarks had upon 
a number of members the effect which he de- 
sired, nevertheless I was amused when Joe 
Howard popped up and remarked : " I wish to 
add the weight of my testimony, such as it is, 
to that which our venerable and esteemed 
friend has so kindly given us. A few years 
ago he said to me just what he has said to all of 
you to-night, and impressed me so powerfully 
that I went out. and opened a bank account at 
once. I have it yet. Yes, gentlemen, I am 
happy to say I have it yet. It has been about 
$400 overdrawn for two years ; still, that bank 
account is mine." Even Mr. Cooper had to 
laugh then. 

Willie Winter is another one of the wits of 
the New York press. He is a very solemn- 
looking fellow, and I have heard that he con- 
fines his humourous exuberance to the columns 
of the newspaper on whose staff he has been a 



2i6 The People I've Smiled With: 

valuable contributor for a good many years, but 
the only time I ever heard him speak in public 
he was quite equal to the occasion. It was a 
dinner at which General Sherman presided. 
My name was on the list, but perhaps the 
General had mislaid his glasses, for instead of 
calling for Wilder he named Winter. Winter, 
who had seen the list himself, arose and re- 
marked gravely : " I had found myself almost 
entirely forgotten here, but General Sherman, 
who never yet disappointed any expectations 
which were made of him, loolced for me in the 
person of my esteemed friend, Marshall Wilder. 
I was not in the least disappointed. It re- 
minded me of an old yarn about a negro 
preacher who used to open a Bible at random 
when he went into the pulpit, and one day he 
stumbled on a chapter which is the terror of 
young people who attempt to commit the Bible 
to memory, and read as follows : ' And unto 
Enoch was born Irad, and Irad forgot Mehu- 
jael, and Mehujael forgot Methusael, and 
Methusael forgot Lamech, and Lamech took 
unto him two wives and forgot Jabal. — Now, 
my beloved bruddern, dis text am meant to 
show you firstly dat dem old patriarchs, dey 
was mighty forgitful.' Never mind about the 
rest." 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 217 

Henry Guy Carleton is another clever news- 
paper man. He used to be an officer of the 
reguhir army, and his sketches of army life on 
the border, published a few years ago in the 
New York Times, are so killingly funny that I 
have never been able to understand why they 
didn't appear afterward in book form, so that 
people could laugh over them not only for a day 
but for all time. The first I heard of Carleton 
was at a dinner of the Commercial Travellers* 
Club. I did my best when my turn came to 
speak, for I knew those travellers were a re- 
markably smart set of fellows, and knew more 
about chestnuts than all the Italians who infest 
our street corners combined. I did the best 
I could. Joe Howard also made a tremendous 
hit. Carleton couldn't go, but he sent a letter 
which put the assemblage in fits. It is as 
follows : 

"Will L. Heyer :— 

"Dear Sir: I pen these few lines with a soul 
full of emotion, sorrowing that I cannot be 
with you to-night. I feel that by staying away 
from the large, long feed to which you so kindly 
invited me, I am losing the one opportunity of 
my life to get square with the drummers. 
During my long and variable career as a 
private citizen I have travelled a great deal, but 
I have never yet seen a real live drummer. I 



2i8 The People Vve Smiled With: 

have often heard of him, but he was always 
about ten minutes ahead of me. All the best 
rooms were occupied when I arrived, and the 
affections of the prettiest girls had all been 
placed. I never got a lower berth on a train 
but once, and that was when a drummer, who 
had got in ahead of me, gave it up so that he 
could offer his condolences to a poor little 
orphan girl, aged about twenty-five years, in 
another car, who was on her way to join her 
parents in Kankakee. I once paid $4 a day in 
Denver where I was shown up to room 947 
on the eighth floor, with a cracked mirror, no 
soap, one towel, a package of insect powder, 
and a bureau with no handles on it, while the 
blue-eyed drummer with gold filling in his 
front teeth who arrived just before me got the 
best chamber for $2, with ten per cent, off for 
cash. But let this pass ; I have noticed that 
drummers are always complaining of loss of 
appetite, but I have also observed that there is 
seldom anything left after they get through, 
except the cut-glass pickle dish, four corks, and 
the mustard. I would be a drummer myself, 
but my intimate friends say that I am not shy 
and retiring enough ; they say also that I talk 
too much. 

"Yours very truly, 

" Henry Guy Carleton." 

Bob Morris is also noted in the journalistic 
fraternity as a story-teller. Bob is very lame 
in both feet and needs a thick cane to help him 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 219 

along. He ought to have a medal of honor 
big enough to cover his entire breast and hang 
all over him beside, for many years ago, when 
he was an athletic young sailor and officer in 
the merchant marine, both his feet were frozen 
on account of his heroic endeavors to save the 
lives of some of his messmates who were in 
danger of drowning, during a wreck. The dis- 
ability didn't reach his head, however ; it didn't 
even get up to his heart, for Bob is alwa}-s bub- 
bling over with good stories. In recent years 
he has written several plays, and I am glad to 
say he is on the high road to success. I don't 
know of any one who more richly deserves it. 

Joe Clarke is another famous story-teller. 
His duties as managing editor confine him very 
closely to his desk, but when any acquaintance 
chances to catch him on the elevated train be- 
tween his office and his house they are sure of 
getting a good story, and probably half a dozen. 
Joe is one of the few men who look as if hard 
work agreed with them. He is rotund, smooth- 
faced, bright-eyed, has a fine complexion, and 
like his hearty admirer, the author, never drinks 
anything stronger than water. 

Another famous fellow for good stories is 
John Reed. John has done so much long and 
steady work as a vv^anaging editor that his ac- 



220 The People I've Smiled With i 

quaintances have been able to catch him only 
about as they catch angels' visits — that is, un- 
awares ; but after two o'clock at night, or rather 
in the morning, when the paper is made up, 
John will sit down at any of the all-night soda 
fountains and tell stories as long as any one 
else will prompt him by telling stories them- 
selves. He doesn't allow anyone to get ahead 
of him. 

Will Starks has about as large a collection of 
good stories as any man on the New York press, 
and he makes them all the better by telling them 
with as solemn a face as if he were a Presby- 
terian minister warning his hearers to f^ee from 
the wrath to come. Bill looks to be about 
thirty-five years of age, but as he was a famous 
war correspondent twenty-five years ago, and 
a most efTeclive cavalry officer before that, I 
guess he must have found the fountain of youth 
somewhere. When he recalls a first-rate thing 
from his memories of every State of the Union, 
and some foreign countries besides, he does not^ 
like some men I know, go out at once to find 
some one to try it on, but he writes it out, puts 
it in print, and modestly but hypocritically 
credits it to some other newspaper. Bill knows 
as much about Cuba and Mexico as most men 
do about the United States. He is a rich mine 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 2 2 t 

of war reminiscences, but never gives up a war 
story unless it is dragged out of him by main 
force. When that occurs, however, it is safe 
for the Hsteners to loosen a vest-button or two- 
and draw a full breath. 

Should any man be pining for a war story, 
and can't get one anywhere else, he can be ac- 
commodated by applying in proper manner to 
George F. Williams, who will be pleasantly re- 
called by every one when I say it was he who 
devised and managed the children's excursions 
which were such a delightful indication of New 
York's big heart a few years ago. George also 
was a soldier and war correspondent, and al- 
though sometimes he grew very weary through 
lack of sleep during the discharge of the serious 
duties incumbent upon him, his memory was 
never weakened in the slightest degree. He 
knew every general in the army, always got his 
copy in on time, never did any padding, and 
yet heard every good story that was told in any 
department of our great army. Still more, he 
could always find time to drop in wherever 
there were any prisoners of war and catalogue 
the jokes that were current on the other side. 
George is almost as tall as the late lameiited 
General Scott, has splendid broad shoulders, 
and honorably wears the old " knapsack stoop " 



222 The People I've Smiled With. 

of the volunteer army, although he quickly 
earned shoulder straps and an enviable rank, 
which he resigned solely for the purpose of 
going back to his first love, which was the jour- 
nalistic profession. 

The New York newspaper men have two 
clubs — the Press Club and the Fellowcraft, the 
latter being so high-toned and exclusive that 
there's many a millionnaire who hasn't influence 
enough to pass its doors. That's all right, 
though; if newspaper men don't deserve a 
cozy, quiet place of retreat, I don't know who 
does. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Some Points of Business. — No Trick about It. — A Mat- 
ter OF Long Practice. — My Earliest Appearance. — 
Joe Jefferson. — A Gallows for a Stage. — Buffalo 
Bill with Red Hair. — My Friends the Newsboys, — 
I Learned Something from Talmage. — A Hint to 
Preachers —Marcus Spring's Story. — The Boston 
Common Incident Adapted. 

Among my best friends — those who are 
most heartily pleased at all success which I 
have achieved in my profession — are a number 
who are more and more surprised, as time 
goes on, that I get along as well as I do. 
■They are not in the business themselves, so 
they look on from afar ofT and imagine there 
is some trick about it in some way. I have 
heard people talk the same way after listening 
to Patti sing through an opera requiring great 
abilities in acting, vocalization, and facial ex- 
pression, and wonder how she succeeded in 
getting everything " down fine." There is 
nothing wonderful about it to me, for she went 
on the stage at a very early age. I am told 
her first appearance was during her third year, 
when she was carried on in a child's part. 



224 The People Vve Smiled With: 

Well, begging pardon for comparing myself 
in any way with so incomparable an artist as 
Madame Patti, I want to explain to my friends 
that I didn't jump suddenly into the business 
which now occupies most of my time. I had 
a long preparatory course of an irregular na- 
ture. I have already alluded to the barn the- 
atrical company which I managed when I was 
a small boy, but I look back to those days with 
considerable satisfaction, for they set me to 
thinking about how to secure an effect upon 
an audience, and the habit then formed has 
never left me. 

My first attempt, however, to amuse the pub- 
lic was made still earlier. I was only about 
eight years of age when the people in the 
rural district in which I lived planned an en- 
tertainment. They played Mary Queen of 
Scots. Your stalwart American backwoods- 
man has a faculty of always trying the hardest 
thing first ; that is why he develops into such 
a splendid fellow. When Mary came upon 
the stage with the headsman, the property- 
man had failed to remember that an axe was 
necessary, in keeping up the illusion, and the 
performance had to wait while they sent out 
and borrowed a meat-axe from the nearest 
but-^her. Everybody in the vicinity knew that 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 225 

meat-axe at sight, and as the headsman took it 
and stalked across the stage very solemnly, to 
chills-and-fever music by the local band, 1 
shouted out : " Save me a spare-rib ! " That 
scene was a failure for the company, but as my 
first attempt at wit it made a tremendous 
success, which so pleased me that I have ever 
since had my mind running on that sort of 
thing. 

My first appearance on the professional 
stage was made at Roberts' Opera House, 
Hartford, when I was a school-boy in that 
town. Joe Jefferson came there to play Rip 
Van Winkle, and, as every one remembers, he 
makes his first appearance in the play with 
a child on his back and a number of other 
children following. It was always desirable to 
secure a youngster who was not very heavy, to 
sit on Rip's shoulders, yet old enough not to be 
frightened at the applause with which the 
scene is always greeted. I was always hanging 
about that opera house, and frequently suc- 
ceeded, being very short, in hiding under a 
seat so that I could be in the house without a 
ticket before the performance began. The 
janitor knew this trick of mine, and thought 
he might as well make use of me in some 
way to pay expenses, so he selected me on one 



i26 The People I've Smiled With: 

occasion as the boy to sit on Jefferson's shoul- 
ders. 

Tlien I considered myself in luck. I reached 
the theatre at half-past six, — an hour and a 
half too early, so as to be sure to be there on 
time. Jefferson arrived late, and was kind 
enough to ask me into his dressing-room, and 
perhaps my mouth and eyes weren't wide 
opened as I saw him make up for his part ! 
Finally, he said, " Now, little fellow," and 
stooped down. I jumped upon his back, and 
off he started for the stage. The instant he 
appeared there was a tremendous round of 
applause, which I, with the customary modesty 
of childhood, imagined was intended entirely 
for me. A happier boy never lived. 

This experience made me so in love with 
the theatre that I again began to give 
dramatic entertainments myself. I couldn't 
hire a hall, and the janitor cruelly refused me 
the use of the opera house, but where there is 
a will there is a way. The old Hartford Jail 
had a garret in the top of the building, and 
the jailer's family lived on the floor beneath 
it ; the jailer's son was a friend of mine, and 
as fond of theatricals as I, so we used to give 
entertainments up in that garret. The town 
gallows, when not in use, was kept up there, 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life, 227 

and we rigged that up as a stage and hung a 
curtain in front of it. When Buffalo Bill 
visited Hartford with Ned Buntline's com- 
pany fifteen or twenty years ago, my friend 
and I saw him as often as possible, and re- 
membered all we could of the play ; then we 
would give it, to a carefully selected audience- 
up in that garret. The jailer's son played 
Buffalo Bill's part ; he had fiery red hair, 
which was cut very short ; consequently he 
did not resemble Bill very much, but between 
our histrionic ability and the extra attraction 
of our playing from the gallows from which 
some men had been hung, we succeeded in ex- 
torting five cents for every ticket. Even at 
this late day I don't hesitate to say the show 
was worth the money. I'd give a hundred 
times as much now to see a lot of boys go 
through the same performance from so sugges- 
tive a stage. 

Having been a boy, and not so very long 
ago either, I have a great deal of sympathy 
with the youngsters and hearty fondness for 
them. No part of my professional duties has 
been more pleasant than that of entertaining 
newsboys and bootblacks in New York, as I 
do frequently. What delights me most about 
it is that my juvenile audiences never forget 



228 The People I've Smiled With : 

me. I had an amusing and touching illustra- 
tion of it not very long ago. I was at the foot 
of the elevated railway stairs at Chambers 
Street trying to get up. There was a great 
crowd there, and a very big fellow, not noticing 
me, pushed me aside. Instantly two newsboys 
rushed up, and one of them shouted : " See 
here ; don't you shove that little fellow or 
knock him around; that's Wilder the humourist, 
and when you hit him you hit us." The man 
turned around, and when he could bend his 
neck enough to look down to where I was he 
said pleasantly: "Beg pardon, Mr. Wilder; I 
didn't see you." But the boys were not quick 
to accept his explanation ; their lips were 
rolled out, and their teeth exposed plainly, 
until the big fellow took me under his wing 
and guarded me safely all the way up the stairs. 
While my juvenile head was full of dramatic 
projects and possibilities, I got an important 
lesson from the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage. I 
know that he is not a professor in the school 
of acting, nevertheless you can learn something 
from anybody if you will take the trouble to 
listen and not be conceited. He came to 
Rochester once when I was a school-boy there, 
and was to lecture at Corinthian Hall. I hap- 
pened to be hanging about there during the 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 229 

afternoon when he dropped in to look at the 
place where he was to speak, and he saw me 
and patted me on the head and said: "Well, 
my little man, are you coming to hear my 
lecture to-night?" I looked up and said: 
"Well, sir; I don't think your lecture will be 
entertaining to boys." "You don't, eh," he 
laughed ; " why, what am I myself but a boy ? " 
That caught me, so I went there that evening 
and enjoyed the lecture very much. I looked 
at him all the while. I couldn't possibly help 
it, for I was curious every minute, almost every 
second, to see what he would do next. He was 
never quiet. He talked with his face as much as 
with his tongue, and he put in a good deal of 
work with his hands, with his feet, and all the 
rest of his body. He was all over that plat- 
form at least sixty times in the course of the 
hour in which he spoke, and I heartily approve 
of everything he did. I got the idea there, 
which some conscientious readers and recita- 
tionists seem to have missed all their lives, 
that when a man has a good thing to get off 
he must not trust it entirely to his tongue. 

That is just the difference between acting 
and preaching. I learned it during that even- 
ing, and I never forgot to act accordingly. 
There is scarcely a thing that I say on the 



230 The People I've Smiled With : 

stage or platform which has not been said by 
a great many other people, but I help my 
tongue along to the best of my ability with 
face, eyes, cheeks, hands,- and feet. There is 
everything in the way a thing is put. If there 
wasn't, a school dialogue would be as good as 
one of Booth's tragedies or Daly's comedies. 
I have seen some atrocious plays draw for a 
hundred successive nights in New York, not 
for anything that the author had said or done, 
but because of the ability of the artists. A 
great many preachers now living could profit 
as much as I did by studying Talmage for a 
little while. 

The difference reminds me of a story which 
the late Marcus Spring of New Jersey, a gentle- 
man who left a most enviable reputation be- 
hind him for geniality and courtesy, used to 
tell about an old colored woman who lived in 
his vicinity. Spring was quite a persistent 
church-goer, and one day he was astonished to 
see this old woman get in an ecstacy of smiles 
and tears over a very poor sermon, — a sermon 
by one of the oid-fashioned pulpit-pounding, 
Gospel-chewing preachers, whose sermons have 
as much verbiage and little sense as a dic- 
tionary after it has been ground to bits in 
a coffee-mill. Said Mr, Spring: "Auntie, I 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 231 

don't see why you make such a fuss over what 
that man said to you. If you are affected by 
that sort of thing, I believe I could make you 
cry and shout by simply saying, ' See that 
rabbit ruji across that field!' She resented 
the imputation, so I immediately struck a pul- 
pit attitude and in my most impressive manner 
repeated the words given above. Sure enough, 
the old woman burst into a flood of tears and 
got off several pious ejaculations. 'There,* 
said I, 'didn't I tell you I could do it?' 
'Yes, Massa Spring,' said she, 'you did, 
but, — oh, you didn't tell me you was goin' to 
put de heavenly twang into it. Dat's what 
took me, massa.' " 

One of my most successful appearances was 
in imitation of a historic character dear to all 
small boys ; I allude to the spokesman of that 
crowd of little Bostonians who went to Gen. 
Howe once during the British occupation of 
Boston and protested against the abridgement 
of their liberties to the extent of playing on 
Boston Common. Right beside our school in 
Rochester was a bit of ground on which we 
boys used to play ball, but an old German living 
near by protested against the game because we 
made so much noise and disturbed him. I 
guess he drank too much beer, and had a bad 



23? The People I've Smiled With. 

stomach. The old fellow went to police head- 
quarters, and an order was issued from there 
that the boys should stop playing ball on that 
ground. We fellows held a wrathful consulta- 
tion, and it was decided that something should 
be done. Recalling the Boston incident, it was 
agreed that we should make an appeal to the 
Mayor. A committee of four was appointed, 
and I was selected, as spokesman. We went to 
the Mayor's ofifice, and I stated the case to Mayor 
Parsons. My heart was in my mouth all the 
while, but the boys said I did splendidly, and 
I guess I did, for the Mayor compelled the 
police to rescind their order. Before that the 
boys didn't seem to think much of me, because 
I couldn't work and wasn't equal to all the 
onerous duties of ball playing, but after that I 
was the biggest man at the school. To my 
great delight, last summer, at Saratoga, I 
met Mayor Parsons and recalled the incident. 
He remembered it at once, and we had a hearty 
laugh over it. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

Part of My Pay. — The Fun I Get from My Hearers. — 
They Asked for My Father. — A Thrifty Hebrew. — 
No Creed ABOUT Money. — Expected to Parade. — .Some 
Great-hearted Philadelphians, — A Blind Orchestra. 
— Cabmen's Jokes. — Carl Zerrahn's Predicament. — 
Taming a Bear. — Mind readlng. 

Since I succeeded in becoming pretty well 
known as a man who makes people smile, I 
have received very good pay, better, I suspect 
sometimes, than I deserve, but a great deal of 
my compensation comes out of the fun which 
I stumble upon unexpectedly in the course of 
my work. 

It is not always fun ; for instance, sometimes 
when I give an entertainment for the benefit of 
a Sunday-school or church, and the church build- 
ing itself is the place in which I am to speak, 
the minister will come to me and say : " Now, 
Mr. Wilder, you must be very careful ; please 
remember that this a church. I hope you will 
select your words very carefully while you are 
on the platform." It isn't specially inspiring 
to have this sort of thing said just as you 
" go on." 

233 



234 The People I've Siniled With : 

There is no end to the funny incidents that 
come to me through my smaUness of stature. 
I remember going to one town and, on landing 
at the station, finding nobody there but two 
men who were looking around in a helpless 
manner. One of them finally said to the other: 
"Well, I guess he isn't coming; I don't know 
what we're going to do ; the only passenger 
that came off that train was that little boy 
there. I guess we'll have to go up and get the 
dominie to make a speech, and then get the 
choir to sing Moody and Sankey hymns or some- 
thing. I'll never engage another of them 
lecturers to come down from New York City 
again. There's that whole town-hall full of 
people by this time, and they are all going to 
be disappointed." I went up to him and said : 
"Are you one of the lecture committee?" 
"Yes," said he, " My name is Brown." " Well," 
said I, " my name is Wilder." " Oh," said he, 
" it is, eh ? Well, sonny, where is your dad ?" 

Some entertainment committees act, regard- 
ing their financial engagements, in a way that 
reminds me of an enterprising Hebrew who 
once came to engage me. He said : " Mr. Wild- 
er, I want to give an entertainment to some 
of my friends, and I'd stand five or ten dollars 
to have you there to say something. Have 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 235 

you anytliing to do next Monday night ? " 
"No," said I, "but my price is fifty dollars." 
"Oh, well," said he, " that's all right as a rule, 
but if you haven't got anything to do Monday 
night, why don't you come? You'll be ten 
dollars ahead." Still I declined. "Well," he 
argued, " if you don't come, like as not you'll 
go to the theatre and take a lady with you, and 
spend five or ten dollars, and you'll miss the 
ten dollars you might have got from me ; then 
you'll be fifteen or twenty dollars out. Now, 
I don't care about a few dollars ; I'll make it 
twenty." " No," said I, " I can't cut rates, it 
won't be fair to other fellows in the business, 
I won't go for less than fifty." " Well," said he, 
" I guess I can fix it in some way ; tell you 
what I'll do ; I wont give the company any- 
thing to drink; that will leave me five dollars 
ahead ; I'll make it twenty-five for you." "No," 
said I, " my price is fifty; I must stick to it." 
Finally he said : " Well, tell you how I'll fix it. 
I wont give the company anything to eat ; so 
I can afford to give you the fifty dollars." 
The engagement consequently was closed. Af- 
ter the entertainment was over, the host took 
me aside, and handed me forty dollars. " See 
here," said I, " I've kept my part of the agree- 
ment ; why don't you keep yours? My terms 



236 The People I've Smiled IVtfh : 

were fifty dollars." Then he handed me a ten- 
dollar bill, and said : " Oh, pshaw ! Can't you 
take a joke ? " 

I met another Hebrew, a first-rate fellow too, 
at the Narragansett Hotel in Providence once. 
He happened to know my friend, J. M. Hill, 
the theatrical manager, who was in town at that 
time, and he asked Hill, " Isn't that Wild- 
er?" "Yes," said Mr. Hill, introducing us. 
" Mr. Wilder," said he, " I want to hear you. 
I've been trying for a long time ; I'm going to 
do it the first opportunity." " Well," said Hill, 
" Mr, Wilder's going to read here to-night." 
"What! right here in Providence? I'll go to 
hear him ; I don't care what it costs. Where's 
he going to read?" "At the Young Men's 
Christian Association," replied Mr. Hill. 
" Oh," said the fellow, " they wont let me in 
there, I'm a Hebrew." Mr. Hill laid his left 
hand on the fellow's shoulder, shook the fore- 
finger of his right hand impressively, and said, 
with the most solemn expression in the world : 
" My friend, there isn't any creed about 
money." 

At another place I had posted my lithograph 
" ads." all around town, and on each of them 
were copies of photographs of my face, in dif- 
ferent characters and in different parts of my 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 2^^ 

entertainments. I am rather proud of these 
pictures, for I make it a point never to put on 
the same face twice in succession in an evening. 
A countryman came up to me and said, "Are 
you the show?" "Yes,'' said I. " Be them 
your pictures there ? " I said yes. " Well, when 
are you going to make your parade?" He 
had seen all the faces, and he thought that they 
meant as many different men. He didn't mean 
to compliment me, I suppose, but I took it as 
such, and went off patting myself on the back. 
I meet a great many good men as well as 
odd ones in my trips about the country, and 
one of them is Mr. Clarkson, the great Philadel- 
phia clothier, who employs thousands of peo- 
ple, and each month gives them an entertain- 
ment, for which purpose he hires the Academy 
of Music. The artists whom he engages are 
not those who can be picked up for little 
money, but the very best singers, lecturers, and 
other performers that can be found, the enter- 
tainment being free to all his employees. In the 
summer time he gives them excursions. I said 
to him once, " Mr. Clarkson, this sort of thing 
must cost you a great deal of money." " Yes," 
said he, " it does, but it all comes back to me, 
though I never expected it when I began. My 
employees are an appreciative lot of people, 



238 The People I've Smiled With : 

and I believe they pay a great deal more atten- 
tion to my business from finding me interested 
in them." 

Another man of the same kind is Mr. Stet- 
son, proprietor of a great hat factory in Phil- 
adelphia. A peculiar feature of the little 
orchestra which he maintains is that all the 
performers are blind. I have heard a great 
many orchestras, but I must say those fellows 
put more soul into their music than I ever 
heard from any others. A touching incident 
occurred there one night when I chanced to be 
the entertainer. I was reciting a sketch called 
" The Surgeon's Story," at which a fire is 
spoken of, and I suppose I must have done it 
pretty well, for the audience was thoroughly 
worked up. One of the lines read: 

" The corporal's quarters is all on fire," 
At that moment, it being the time of the Cen- 
tennial celebration, a number of fireworks in an 
adjoining street were let off, and the inevitable 
lunatic who is to be found in every audience 
got up and shouted " Fire ! " There was a 
general stampede. I turned to the blind or- 
chestra, and said: "Be entirely quiet ; there is 
no need for alarm ; there is no fire here." The 
instant I spoke the poor fellows began playing 
to keep the audience quiet, and succeeded. I 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 239 

never before or since took such satisfaction in 
any one's accepting my word for exactly what 
it was worth. 

I have had a great deal of fun out of the cab- 
men of London, Dublin, and other European 
towns. Cab-fares are small over there. A fellow 
who has to kill time can do it a great deal 
cheaper riding around in a cab than by loung- 
ing in a bar-room and drinking with his friends. 
One day when I happened to have got a great 
deal of copper in change, I made up my mind 
to relieve myself of extra weight by paying the 
cabby in pennies. His fare was eighteen 
pence; so, taking a handful of copper from my 
pocket, I counted it over very carefully, begin- 
ning, " One, two, three," etc., aloud. As I 
looked up the cabby was regarding me with a 
mixture of pity and contempt, and as I handed 
him his fare he said between his teeth : 
" You've been savin' up a long time, haven't you, 
sonny ? " Another time, after riding around in 
a cab on a rainy day, I said to the cabman on 
dismounting at my hotel, " Mike, are you 
wet?" " Well, sor," he replied, "if I was as 
wet outside as I am inside, I'd be as dry as a 
bone." I'm a temperance man myself, but that 
fellow didn't remain dry a minute longer. 

One of the most amusing and at the same 



240 The People I've Smiled With: 

time most dreadful times that I ever had in the 
business was when I went up to New England 
to a musical convention of which the noted 
Carl Zerrahn of Boston was the leader. What 
he doesn't know about music would be hard for 
any one else to find out ; but he didn't know 
anything about me^ and the more he inquired 
the more he was bothered to know what to do 
with me in the entertainment. I had been en- 
gaged by the management, and would have to 
be paid, so I ought to appear ; but whenever 
m}' name was upon the programme, and I went 
on the stage, all the good temper was taken 
out of Mr. Zerrahn for at least half an hour, 
and he would mutter to some of the musicians 
about him: " Dis will never do; dis man 
breaks de programme all up," Finally he 
came to me and said : " Mr. Vilder, vhen you 
come up here again and go on de programme, 
vill }-ou please tell me vhat }'ou vant to do, 
and den do it all at vonce ? I'll vait, no matter 
how long it is." I told him that I'd been sent 
there to make people laugh, and I was obliged 
to do it, but I was sorry for him. It reminded 
me of the da}'s when I was at school, and the 
children didn't like to appear after me on ex- 
hibition-day, because I'd make them laugh and 
break them all up. They used to complain to 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 241 

the teacher that " Marshall Wilder was making 
faces." 

I am a good-natured man, and purpose to 
be cheerful on all occasions, but once in a 
while I meet some one whom I have to sit 
down upon. I am not very heavy, but all the 
weight there is to me I try to drop on a single 
spot. Once, in the Catskills, where I was to 
give an entertainment, I saw an old gentleman 
with four charming daughters seated about him. 
As I passed them, he chanced to pick up one 
of my programmes, and he said: "Oh, is that 
homely little fellow to give an entertainment 
here to-night?" (I am perfectly willing to 
admit that I am not quite as handsome as Bill 
Nye.) One of the girls replied. "Yes, he's 
going to recite 'Asleep at the Switch,' among 
other things." " Well," said he, loud enough 
for me to hear, and apparently for the purpose 
of my hearing it, " I wont go to hear him ; if 
I have heard that once I've heard it a hun- 
dred times." I went right up to him and 
said: "What's that you say about 'Asleep at 
the Switch?'" "Who are you?" he asked. 
"My name is Marshall P. Wilder," said I, 
"and I heard your remark about my pro- 
gramme. I don't care whether }'ou come to 
hear me at all. You're a bear. Suppose you 



242 The People I've Smiled With : 

have heard 'Asleep at the Switch' a hun- 
dred times. Haven't you heard the Lord's 
Prayer a hundred times as often ? And if 
you have, do you object to hearing that 
again? There is a good deal in the way that 
a thing is done. I claim to recite 'Asleep 
at the Switch ' well, but I don't want you to 
come and hear me. I don't want to see your 
face in the house to-night ; it will make me 
ill, I can't stand it." 

Well, as I went in that night there in one of 
the front seats sat that very man. I gave him 
a look as much as say, " I thought I told 
you to keep away from here?" The audience, 
many of whom had heard the conversation of 
the afternoon, seemed to translate my face at 
once, and there was a general titter all over 
the house. Whether they were laughing at 
me or at him I don't know, but I made up my 
mind to find out, so I gave my whole enter- 
tainment to that one old individual. I devoted 
myself entirely to him. It annoyed him, and 
soon he took a pencil from his pocket and 
tried to write something to divert his mind. 
When I recited " Over the Hill to the Poor- 
house ; " tears began to roll down the old 
man's face. I had got him. When the per- 
formance was over, he came up to me and put 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 243 

two ten-dollar bills into my hand and said, 
" My boy, you have taught me a lesson that I 
never sliall forget." This old man is now one 
of my best friends, and I go to see him fre- 
quently, and his daughters are like sisters 
to me. 

Occasionally I go to places where it is the 
custom for some private family to take charge 
of the entertainer, there being no good hotel 
near by. Generally I am capitally entertained. 
1 usually know, as soon as I enter the house, 
the character of the entire family. There are 
two sure indications : one is the manner of the 
servants, and the other is the manner of the 
children. It does not take long to get ac- 
quainted with a child, and as soon as you have 
done it you know the parents ; in fact, you 
know the ancestors back for two or three 
generations. It is a good deal the same way 
with the servants. When a lady tells me that 
she has simply a dreadful time with her ser- 
vants, I have made up my mind that some one 
who is within speaking distance of me does 
not know how to manage her house, and the 
chances are about one hundred to one that I 
am entirely correct about it. 

Occasionally I have stepped out of my 
regular line and given a voluntary entertain- 



244 The People I've Smiled With. 

ment of a sort which never fails to astonish 
people, although I never pretended that 
there was any mystery about it. It is in the 
line of mind-reading, about which the public 
have listened to a great deal of nonsense. 
Mind-reading is nothing but muscle-reading. 
A person who will concentrate his attention 
upon one subject, and who is at all sensitive, 
can generally succeed in finding what other 
people are thinking of. I have succeeded in 
performing just such feats as have made Mr. 
Bishop and Mr. Cumberland famous ; our 
methods may differ, but there is a great deal 
of trick about it. If I take you by the hand 
and lead you about the room and concentrate 
my attention upon your hand, )'ou will lead me 
unconsciously just where you don't want to go, 
and the harder you try to keep me away from 
the article the easier it is for me to find it, for 
the muscular movements of your hand give 
me the cue. The same thing can be done 
with an article passed from hand to hand be- 
tween five or six people, the last one retain- 
ing it. 

Here is a specimen case which occurred at 
the Hoffman House in New York. A diamond 
brooch belonging to Mrs. Frank Leslie, who 
was one of the party, was to be taken by a 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. '45 

gentlemen who would drive off with it behind 
a team of horses and hide it within a mile of 
the hoteL A committee was appointed to 
supervise the performance. The men who 
were to hide the article were selected by the 
operator himself, and he was careful to select 
nervous, sympathetic people. The carriage 
drove through Broadway to Twenty-first 
Street, over to Fourth Avenue, and then to 
Gramercy Park, where it stopped. The party 
went into the Gramercy Building, entered a 
room, hid the article there, and returned, the 
committee being with him. The operator was 
then blindfolded, and to make assurance 
double sure a black cap was placed over his 
eyes. The operator took the hand of the 
man who hid the article and traced different 
routes on a map before him until he struck 
the right one. After he had made up his 
mind where the article was hidden, he got into 
a carriage, accompanied by the committee, 
drove to the house, entered it, took the hand 
of one of the committee, and easily found the 
article. I have succeeded in doing similar 
tricks many times, all through muscle-read- 
ing — not mind-reading. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

An Ocean Trip. — A Glorious Bracer. — Some People 
Whom You Don't Meet. — Creditors. — People You 
ARE Sure to See. — The Doctor. — Fred Douglass. — 
Honeymoon Couples. — Gossip. — The Resurrection of 
" Plug" Hats. — Custom-house Officials. — The Trav- 
elling Dude. — When Blaine Smiled. 

When I want a real jolly time and don't 
know how else to get it, I generally take a run 
across the ocean, one way or the other. A 
great many people dislike the idea of going to 
sea, but during May, June, July, and August 
the trip is generally pleasant. Persons who 
fear the torments of sea-sickness can generally 
have their minds relieved by their famil)^ Phy- 
sicians, and if not sick I can't imagine any 
place where they'll get more rest and recrea- 
tion than on a first-class ocean steamer. All 
they need is to remain on deck as much as 
possible, look about them, make no special 
effort to obtain new acquaintances, and make 
a little effort to avoid having new acquaint- 
ances pushed upon them ; soon they will feel 
all right. 

246 



Recolleciions of a Merry Little Life. 247 

The sweetest rest in the world is to be found 
on the ocean. While there you can't receive 
any letters or telegraphic dispatches or news- 
papers, and if you are anxious about any of 
them you may feel entirely sure that you will 
get them all as soon as you reach port. Simply 
to eat and drink and sleep and breathe pure 
air — and, on occasion, even a little fog — 
will rejuvenate a tired-out person sooner than 
anything else I know of. I ought to know 
what I'm talking about, for I have tried it a 
number of times, and always found the experi- 
ment successful. 

Of course you meet all sorts of people on 
shipboard ; besides the ordinary run of tourists, 
there are men running away from their wives, 
and wives running away from their husbands, 
and people of both sexes trying to get away 
from the police; but it isn't necessary to asso- 
ciate with any of these. Besides, there are a 
great many people who are getting away from 
their creditors. 

I have a great deal of respect for a creditor, 
perhaps because I dont't owe anything to any- 
body now, but there have been times when, to 
preserve my reputation for truthfulness, I have 
had to keep out of the way of collectors. I 
didn't dare tell them the truth, and I didn't 



248 The People I've Smiled With: 

want to lie to them, so there was nothing else 
to do but keep out of the way. Creditors are 
entirely respectable individuals. They have 
been shamefully abused in literature. They 
want only what is due them, and if the 
rest of us are like them in this respect we are 
a great deal better than any one has given us 
credit for. One day during a remote impecu- 
nious period I said to a persistent collector, 
" Do you suppose a man's creditors will ever 
get to Heaven?" '*' They ought to," he re- 
plied, curtly, " they have to suffer more than 
any one else on earth." This remark affected 
me so seriously that within forty-eight hours I 
went out and borrowed the amount and paid 
him. The late Dr. George M. Beard, a very 
clever fellow, once reasoned this subject out as 
follows : " I look at it from the basis of applied 
mathematics. Will there be room in heaven 
for all the creditors? There are in this world 
about a billion and a quarter human beings. 
To each one of these, according to my expe- 
rience, there are about twenty collectors — minis- 
tering angels of finance — a crowd of wit- 
nesses by whom we are surrounded. Surely 
the bounds of heaven cannot contain so many." 
" Besides," continued the Doctor, "the man 
who is hard up financially is not a free moral 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 249 

agent. Next to marriage, debt is the closest of 
all connections. It has been said by those who 
regard themselves wise that you must winter 
and summer with a man before you can know 
him ; but I recommend a shorter and surer road 
to acquaintanceship, — get into debt to a man, 
or allow him to fall in debt to you. No man 
can be said to know another until he has been 
either his debtor or creditor. In other human 
relations it is different. Marriages are some- 
times followed by separations and divorces, 
and more often by infidelity, but my creditors 
or their representatives never run away. They 
are always faithful to me. I was looking a 
few days ago at a picture of Washington Ir- 
ving and his friends. If the picture of any one 
of a hundred men I know and his creditors 
could be painted, no canvas that ever was put 
on a frame would contain all the figures. It 
would be a tell-tale picture, though — some of 
the creditors or collectors sitting in a corner, 
others standing in front, a few lying on 
lounges, and quite a number lying in wait 
outside the front door. 

" And yet," the Doctor went on, " there 
are some very good points about creditors. 
Man is a believing animal. Tell him some- 
thing, and the odds are about ten to one that 



250 The People I've Smiled With : 

he will accept your statement. Why does a 
man promise to pay ? Because he wants to 
pay and his creditors want him to. To a cred- 
itor, promises are what drinks are to inebriates; 
the more they have the more they w^ant. 
Promises to creditors, like relays in the tele- 
graph, take up messages and convey them to a 
distance. If they would only convey the 
debtor also, a great deal of trouble would be 
spared this world, and a great deal of lying 
would be prevented." 

No one can cross the ocean on one of the 
popular steamers without making new ac- 
quaintances whom he never afterward loses, 
and whom, after he gets them, it seems he 
never could have lived without. Travel, like 
poverty, makes strange companions. On ship- 
board I have met many men whom I never 
would have noticed on shore, and I'm sure 
they never would have noticed me, yet we 
have been good friends ever since. To men- 
tion names would be to introduce a number of 
people in whom perhaps the reader could not 
be expected to take any interest, but I want 
to say a word or two about one historic char- 
acter whom I once met on a voyage. He was 
Fred Douglass — an American citizen of Afri- 
can extraction, who was born and reared a 



J^rrnUerttons of a Merry Little Life. -5^ 

slave, but has made himself one of the no- 
blest of freemen. When he first appeared upon 
deck, a number of his fellow-passengers de- 
cided to cut him. They didn't want to asso- 
ciate with a colored man. The old man — for 
he is old now — said nothing about it. I sup- 
pose he was used to that sort of thing. After 
we were two days out I was so indignant at 
the discourtesy shown toward a man whom I 
knew to be intelligent and honorable, that I 
approached him, introduced myself, and began 
chatting with him. After we had talked a 
little while we grew well enough acquainted 
to call each other by first names. There were 
a few moments of silence while Douglass 
looked off in a dreamy way over the expanse 
of water. Finally he said : " Marshall, do you 
see the difference in the altitude of those 
waves ? Doesn't it remind you of the dif- 
ference in men ? Some are very high and 
some very low, but taking them altogether 
they go to make up the whole." Other people 
were standing within listening distance as we 
talked. It was not long before a number of 
men made themselves acquainted with Mr. 
Douglass, and before the voyage was over he 
had won the heart of all persons aboard ship. 
Not quite all, either, for on one occasion, when 



252 The People I*ve Smiled Willi: 

he was asked to take charge of an entertain- 
ment in the cabin, which he did with admir- 
able tact, talent, and courtesy, there was one 
Southerner present who announced that he 
would have nothing whatever to do with it 
if it was to be managed by a colored man. 

You will see any amount of fun on a steamer 
crossing the ocean if you keep your eyes open. 
For instance, a fellow comes up to me, recog- 
nizes me, and says : " Hallo, Wilder, you going 
to Europe ? So am I. We will have lots of 
fun going over; we'll have seven days on ship- 
board. I have some friends I want to bid 
good-by to on the dock, and I'll see you 
again." The chances are I won't see him till 
seven days afterward, and then he will come 
up from his stateroom looking as if he had 
spent the entire time in taking emetics, starv- 
ing himself, and being rubbed down to get rid 
of superfluous flesh. 

On shipboard there are two things about 
which you are sure to hear a great deal; one is 
sea-sickness and the other is gossip. If you 
are rightly constructed you will let the gossip 
go in one ear and out of the other, and I don't 
know of any better way to treat stories about 
sea-sickness. 

I don't know which is the bigger man aboard 



Recollections of a ATerry Lit tie Life. 253 

ship, the Captain or the Doctor. The Captain 
is ahuost sure to be a man who, if not other- 
wise engaged, would make a good President of 
the United States or King of England, but he 
is likely to be pretty busy all the way over. 
•The Doctor has some leisure on his hands, and 
as a rule he is charged with the formal enter- 
tainments that may be given. He is a great 
fellow to go around and cheer people up. 
Cheer counts for more than medicine when 
people arc feeling squeamish. He is as hos- 
pitable and hearty as if he owned the whole 
ship. He isn't like the old lady I heard of 
who asked some people to come and see her, to 
come early, bring their things for lunch, and she 
would see that they got home before tea- 
time. Neither does he keep people's minds 
on sea-sickness, or whatever subject is worry- 
ing them most. If there are some on board 
who are suffering from incurable diseases, he 
takes pains not to talk about it, although his 
professional advice is always at their service. 

Some people ashore aren't that way. I 
know a good-hearted old lady wlio had a 
friend with heart disease, and upon whom 
she precipitated herself one afternoon with 
the following speech : " Mary, I thought I'd 
just run down and cheer you up a little this 



254 The People I've Smiled With: 

afternoon. I just came up the road and I saw 
your husband shot out there, but don't you 
mind it ; you can find a better one after a 
while. Don't look so white about it. I once 
knew a woman who looked as white as you, 
and she didn't live more than five minutes. 
Well, if he happens to be dead when he's 
brought in, don't hesitate to send for me ; 
I'm dreadful good at funerals." 

Of course the Doctor has to listen to a great 
deal of nonsense. I heard one lady say to him, 
" Oh, Doctor, I had a most terrible loss last 
night." " Indeed," said he, sympathetically, 
" what did you lose ? " " Why, I lost my tooth- 
brush." Another said : " Doctor, isn't that 
moon beautiful ? Do you suppose it is the 
same moon they have in Jersey City ? " 

On board ship you are almost certain to meet 
at least one bridal couple who are crossing the 
ocean on their honeymoon trip. I haven't been 
married yet, but when I am I shant take an 
ocean trip for the purpose of getting fairly ac- 
quainted with my wife. I don't know of a 
worse place in which to spend a honeymoon. 
A cheap and crowded New York boarding- 
house would be heaven compared to it. There 
is an expression on the bride's face, a perma- 
nent expression, which seems to say to the 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 255 

groom, " Oh, I wish I had never seen you ! " 
and the bridegroom looks as if he would say, 
" I wish to heaven you would take your things 
out of my trunk and go home to your mother 
and leave me to myself." 

A great deal of courage is displayed in efforts 
to avoid sea-sickness, but sometimes they come 
to grief. You meet a fellow-passenger and 
say, ''How are you to-day, Brown ? " "Oh, 
I'm first rate." " Been ill yet ? " " No, not at 
all." " Did you notice last night how the ship 
rose and fell on the waves?" Then Brown 
puts his hand about where the waist-band 
of his trousers meets, and gasps, " Oh, don't 
say that, please ; don't say that ; it breaks me 
all up." 

Not being accustomed to ocean travel, some 
sensible people on ship-board say very odd 
things, and some others are foolish enough to 
take the remarks in earnest. One day an old 
lady at dinner-table, while the ship was pitch- 
ing frightfully, spilled some coffee on my coat, 
and exclaimed at once : " I beg your pardon, 
I'm sorry I spilled anything on your coat ; I'm 
willing to pay if I spoiled it ; how much ought 
I to pay ? " I thought the best thing to do was 
to relieve her mind on the subject at once, so 
I replied : " Well, I don't really know ; how 



256 The Peo;ple I've Smiled With: 

much do you usually pay in such cases ? " Then 
she laughed, and that settled the matter. 

The day you reach Liverpool it is odd to see 
all the men come up on deck with new hats 
on ; you don't know them. At sea a fellow 
learns to wear anything on his head that will 
stick there tightest ; consequently he seldom 
wears a " stovepipe " hat ; so when he appears 
with such a decoration just as he is going into 
port, the chances are that if he is your bosom 
friend you don't know him at sight. 

I must record the fact — and leave my read- 
ers to make their own inferences — that Custom 
House officers on the English side are far more 
courteous and considerate than those of this 
country, and their system is much better than 
ours, where you have to open your trunks on a 
dock, perhaps where a lot of guano is stored or 
a lot of caustic potash is sprinkled around, and 
stand in a draft and expose yourself to all sorts 
of weather. The English customs officers are 
fussy only over two things. One is printed 
matter — for instance a book or a printed song, 
and the other is liquor. One of them said to 
a fellow-passenger of mine : " Have you any- 
thing to drink in your trunk ? " My friend 
said : " No, I've nothing in that trunk except 
wearing apparel." But when the trunk was 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life, 257 

opened the officer looked up reproachfully and 
said : " You said you hadn't anything in the 
trunk except your clothing. How do you ac- 
count for this dozen bottles of brandy ? " 
" Oh," said my friend, " that's all right ; those 
are night-caps," The ofificer saw the point. 

There are always some dudes on a steamer, 
no matter which way it is going, and I'm glad 
of it, because they always make a great deal of 
fun for other people. I heard of one who on 
a voyage over was reproved by his wife for not 
restraining the children more carefully from 
being nuisances to the passengers. One day 
the children were making themselves unusually 
offensive, and she exclaimed : " Charley, do 
speak to the children." Her husband straight- 
ened himself up, put on a helpless sort of man- 
ner, and then said, " How do you do, chil- 
dren?" 

I noticed in England a great number of 
American dudes. Going through a parlor there 
one day I met one fellow, who said to me, "Ah, 
when did you come from America ? " I replied, 
" Oh, about a month ago. Are you from 
America ? " " Yes," he said, " I am from Phila- 
delphia." " How do you like London ? " I 
asked. " Oh," he said, " I like it very much. 
I would prefer to live here." "How do you 



258 The People I've Smiled With, 

like London society ? " " Very well ; but — one 
meets so many Americans here, don't you 
know." 

On one of my recent passages from England 
to America I succeeded in amusing Mr. Blaine. 
We were coming up New York Bay, the most 
beautiful bay on the face of the earth, and the 
sunshine was simply sparkling about us. It was 
real American sunshine, and it struck us after 
three solid months of English rain and Scotch 
mist. Mr. Blaine turned to me and said : " Ah, 
Marshall, did you ever see such sunshine in a 
free-trade country? " " No," said I, " it's an- 
other one of the blessings of protection." 

Then Blaine smiled. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Myself Once More. — One Use of Affliction. — Picking 
UP Material. — Dining Customs. — Not the Right 
Story. — Two Stammerers. — I Laugh at My Jokes. — 
Sometimes the Audience Laugh at the Wrong 
Place. — Critical Audiences. — Hard_^Work. — Good-by. 

Once more let me talk about myself. This 
is positively my last appearance in this book. 
I know I have appeared several times before, 
but I've done it only for the purpose of an- 
swering questions which are put to me orally 
so often that I feel I ought to answer them in 
bulk to a number of persons who yet may be 
desirous of propounding them. 

As I said at the beginning, nature originally 
was unkind to me in some ways, but I can't 
say that I regret it. My dear old friend Henry 
Ward Beecher used to preach frequently on 
the blessings of afifliction, and I can say from 
personal experience that a man has to be 
slightly afiflicted to know how much kindness 
and good-heartedness there is in this world. I 
have hundreds and thousands, I think, of 
friends, whom I might never have known ex- 
259 



26o The People I've Smiled Wiih: 

cept for some peculiarities which old Dame 
Nature inflicted upon me. Probably she knew 
her business best, but at any rate, like the lit- 
tle fellow with no feet whom I have already 
alluded to, "I'm not kicking." 

I have been asked again and again how I 
always contrive to be ready to speak at short 
notice, and whether I don't prepare myself in 
advance for any sort of emergency. I can say 
truthfully that I make no preparation what- 
ever. When I go upon the stage or platform 
I seldom know what I am going to say or do. 
I don't look to myself for inspiration, but to 
my audience, and no two audiences are exactly 
alike. 

I am also asked frequently where I get the 
material for my sketches and recitations. 
Well, so far as chestnuts are concerned, I have 
already explained sufficiently, but I am con- 
stantly giving off new sketches, and using new 
material. Where do I get it .'' Why, anywhere 
and everywhere. In the long run everything 
I talk about is human nature, — only that and 
nothing more, — and that can be seen and found 
anywhere, and, as my readers often have heard, 
probably, truth is stranger than fiction. If I 
were going to recite to-night, and were assured 
that nothing I had ever done before would be 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 261 

appreciated by the audience I^was to meet, I 
shouldn't be at all troubled in mind. I would 
simply walk upon a horse-car, or into a club, 
or stand at a street-corner, or in a theater 
lobby, and in a little while would have enough 
good material for half-a-dozen recitations. 
Human nature is what people like to hear 
about. You can't please any one better than 
by telling him well, — please note the qualifica- 
tion, — by telling him well about something 
which he already understands. The most 
popular books and plays and poems in exis- 
tence are not those which contain something 
new, but those which confine themselves to 
subjects upon which every one thinks he 
knows everything. 

Some of my most successful work has been 
in the line of after-dinner speeches, and I have 
been asked how I could go through ten or 
twelve courses of food, and six or eight 
different kinds of wine, and then have any head 
on my shoulders. Well, the answer is very 
easy — I don't. I never drink wine or any other 
liquor. Stronger men than I, who think they 
need such things, are respectfully referred to 
my stature and fighting weight in illustration 
of the fact that if a man doesn't want to drink 
he doesn't need to. As to the dining, I never 



262 The People I've Smiled With : 

have any trouble about eating enough to keep 
myself alive, and if I am going to any place 
where a big dinner is to be served, I take the 
precaution of eating first a quiet dinner some- 
where else ; then I am certain my digestion 
will not be upset. I don't wish to give away 
any other man's business secrets, but I venture 
to say that the best after-dinner speakers in the 
United States are the most moderate diners. 
If you will cast your eye at the table in front 
of some man at a big dinner who gets up and 
makes a capital speech, you will probably see 
one of two things — either that all his glasses 
are turned upside down or that they are en- 
tirely full. In other words, he has been drink- 
ing little or nothing. One of the most famous 
givers of good dinners in the United States 
never eats anything himself but a mutton chop 
and a couple of slices of dry toast. He drinks 
nothing but tea, and yet his health, com- 
plexion, and spirits are all that any one could 
desire. I don't wish to imply that I am an 
ascetic. I take my three meals a day, and I 
insist that they shall be as good as my pocket 
can stand, but I don't propose to upset my di- 
gestion for the sake of the best company in the 
world. 

When it falls to my lot to make a speech or 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. 263 

tell a story, I assume that the gathering is one 
of good fellows, and that it isn't advisable to 
hit anybody or hurt any one's feelings. It is 
often possible to tell a good story with a very 
bad result. Every one has his peculiarity, and 
it isn't easy to avoid treading upon toes. I was 
at a church-sociable one night in which an old 
folks' tableau was given. Suddenly the director 
pointed to a young man in one of the front 
seats, and asked him if he would come up on 
the platform. He responded at once. She 
placed him in an attitude of extreme joy, 
asked him to smile ecstatically, and then said 
to the audience, " This is a tableau of a young 
man's glee on receiving the news that his 
scolding wife has just died." The young man 
suddenly straightened as stiffly as a fence-post. 
His own wife, who had been a terrible scold, 
had been buried only the week before. 

Such mistakes can't be helped once in a 
while. A man who is a stammerer was riding 
on an elevated railway train once, and the 
brakeman put his head in the door as the train 
was slowing up, and said : " The next station 
is F-f-f-fourteenth Street." The man stepped 
up to him and said : " L-l-let me know when 
you get to F-f-f-forty-second Street." Then 
the passenger dropped into a peaceful doze. 



264 The People I've Smiled With: 

In the course of half an hour the brakeman 
shouted, *' H-h-h-harlem ; all out ! " The pas- 
senger went up to liim and said angrily: " Didn't 
I t-l-tell you to 1-1-let me know when }'ou got 
to F-f-f-forty-second Street ? " " Yes," said the 
brakeman, " b-b-but I saw you were making 
f-f-fun of me, and I wouldn't do it." 

I always laugh at my own jokes. I believe 
I have said this before, but I want to say it 
again for this sake of explaining. I don't do it 
for the sake of business, but because I can't 
help it. A number of years ago I determined 
to be good-natured under all circumstances, 
and enjoy everything humourous I heard, and 
I don't find myself able to break the rule now, 
even when the funny thing happens to be said 
by myself. It does me a lot of good in the 
way of business, but I never put it in on that 
account. I simply can't help it. If ever you 
come to hear me talk and see me begin to laugh, 
and make up your mind that you wont follow 
my example, why, go right ahead ; I shant feel 
hurt, I shant feel sorry the least bit — except 
for 5^ou. 

Don't imagine, though, that I always laugh, 
for once in a while I don't. There are times 
when other people laugh before I, and some- 
times it is embarrassing. One night I was giv- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life^ 265 

ing an entertainment at Dr. Talmage's church, 
and I had just reached the line, 

" And the old man sighed." 

when something in the big organ gave way 
either by accident or design, and through one 
of the pipes came a sigh such as might have 
been given by a giant who had been lunching 
on green apples. After the audience got 
through laughing I went on, but the poem 
wasn't pathetic any longer, although the author 
meant it to be. 

Some actors, singers, and musicians find 
themselves terribly broken up and nervous 
when the management, with more solicitude 
than sense, blunders into informing them that 
the audience is very critical; that sort of speech 
never troubles me a bit. I always think of a 
man who was said not to have any spirits, but 
who, when he got into a discussion with his 
wife, would frequently reach a state of mind in 
which it was desirable to call for the police. 
Some one once called his attention to the fact 
that, as a rule, he was a most mild-mannered 
person, and consequently it was surprising 
to see him give way to such an ebullition of 
temper. "Well," he replied, " that's so; but 
my wife nagged me up to it." That is just the 
way a critical audience affects me, and if there 



266 The People I've Smiled With: 

is any stimulus of that sort going about I can 
stand all of it that any one can give me. 

To the numerous people that seem to think 
I have nothing to do in this world but enjoy 
myself, I want to say that I work for my living 
quite as hard as any one else. Just look for a 
moment, by way of comparison, at the dif- 
ference between the single individual expected 
to entertain people, and a company of dramatic 
artists on the stage. The average duration of 
the recitation and acting of a play is about two 
hours, and there seldom are less than ten peo- 
ple in the cast. Even if the play is what is 
called a star piece, in which most of the work 
is assigned to the leading character, not one of 
the company is busy more than one hour dur- 
ing the course of the evening. Sometimes I 
have to talk two hours on a stretch, with in- 
termissions of only a moment or two, and 
even then I am on the stage or platform so 
that I can't change my clothes, or take a bite of 
something, or try two or three whiffs of a cigar, 
as almost any actor can in his dressing-room. 
Many a time I attend three'or four different re- 
ceptions in the course of an evening, — always on 
business. I am expected at each to do my very 
best, which I always try to do. It isn't always 
easy to be funny to order. All sorts of unex- 



Recollections of a Merry Little Life. ^^7 

pected things occur to upset a man's plans, 
aud I am no exception to the general run of 
human nature. I have to attend strictly to 
business on such occasions, and sometimes it 
requires all the strength and self-control there 
is in me — not that I have anything to worr/ 
me especially regarding myself, but that I feel 
responsible for what the several audiences 
expect of me. 

Still, I have nothing to complain of. I have 
plenty of friends, a solacing bank account, and 
I succeed in having a good deal of time to my- 
self. Whenever I have an unemployed even- 
ing I make it my business to go out and enjoy 
myself. No one enjoys better than I hearing 
other people sing, or laugh, or talk to entertain 
the public. I know how the old preacher felt 
who, going with his son, also a minister, to 
hear a sermon by some one else, heaved a deep 
sigh of content, and said : " Son, it's a great 
comfort to hear somebody else hold forth." 
Well, that comfort is mine very frequently. I 
strike some golden days once in a while, or 
golden nights. When a reception is given 
by Mrs. Croly, or Mrs. Frank Leslie, or some 
other of my kind friends, and I don't chance 
to be engaged that night, I am as happy as a 
boy who has found a new bag of marbles. 



/ 



268 The People I've Smiled With. 

When I go to a theatre or opera, I listen to the 
other people and enjoy myself a great deal 
more than any one else in the audience, for I 
know by experience just how much trouble and 
pains they are taking to entertain other people. 

That's the sort of a fellow I am. 

Good-by I 



FINIS, 






